


Clash and Clamor

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clothed Sex, First Aid, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Naked Cuddling, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:17:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Number 4 in the 30 Day (year?) OTP Challenge series. Just like the others, check out the first chapter for the Table of Contents. There you'll find teasers for each chapter. You can also follow the <a href="http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/tagged/otp-challenge">OTP Challenge tag</a> or the <a href="http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/tagged/thundershield">thundershield tag</a> on my tumblr for relevant posts. Feel free to drop me an ask or a submission to make requests, anon is usually enabled. You can also check out the <a href="http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/otpchallenge">challenge page</a> to see what's coming up and what's already been requested.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

[CHALLENGE ONE: CUDDLING NAKED (Post-Avengers, Pre-TDW, Pre-TWS)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4153266/chapters/9370539)

  * No one ever thinks that Captain America needs looking after, he's there to look after everyone else. Until, of course, one warrior recognizes the battle-fatigue and world-weariness in another.



 

[CHALLENGE SIX: CLOTHED GETTING-OFF (Post-AoU, Pre-CW)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4153266/chapters/9995744)

  * Steve is hot on Bucky's trail, kind of. Feeling helpless and angry, he isolates himself from his fellow Avengers and adopted family. He says it's to protect them, but really, it's much more an act of simultaneous self-flagellation and self-preservation. Ever perceptive and supportive, Thor attempts to help Steve out of his funk, delivering a much needed reality check and maybe just a little more.



[CHALLENGE NINETEEN: HURT/COMFORT (Post-TDW, Post-TWS, Pre-AoU)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4153266/chapters/11364874)

  * SHIELD is gone, at least officially. Fury is still underground. The Avengers are still fractured, a team in only the loosest sense. Steve spends his time between chasing leads on Bucky with Sam raiding Hydra bases and trying to find and free agents in the field who were compromised by the data dump. Steve feels increasingly isolated and as a result becomes increasingly reckless. During an extraction mission that goes horribly awry, Steve splits from the team to divert attention and give them a better chance at getting out alive. Mortally wounded, Steve's mind wanders before he fades away. On Asgard, Thor is alerted to an alarming situation and decides to go against Odin's wishes with the help of a few familiar faces in order to help his friends. He is left feeling conflicted over his own feelings and concerned for Steve's well-being.




	2. Challenge One: Cuddling Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one ever thinks that Captain America needs looking after, he's there to look after everyone else. Until, of course, one warrior recognizes the battle-fatigue and world-weariness in another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with the other pairs in this series, this first chapter is mostly non-explicit in order to get my feet wet in the dynamics of the relationship. Explicit material to follow.

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he felt this completely exhausted. Bodily, mentally, emotionally--all of it. Absolutely all of it.

 _Fucking_ Doombots.

He’d stopped counting after he ripped the head off of number twenty-seven.

He stopped wondering how the bad guys funded their adventures in bringing their most villainous wet dreams to life when he realized that there were streets full of them. _Exponentially_ more of them than Stark had estimated there would be. They’d thought there’d be fifty, maybe sixty. Maybe.

It just wasn’t fair.

They’d appeared in Times Square as if out of thin air. Like the snap of fingers. The emergency alert that sounded through the Tower was almost unnecessary, the screams and the sirens and the smoke were more than enough of an indication that their help was needed.

Steve had run at them head on, slipping between them, dancing around them. It was like a ballet made of sparks and sweat and loose springs and cogs and blood. He leapt, using the momentum he gained from pushing his foot through the chest of one to launch himself at the shoulders of the next. It tried to throw him off, like one of those hokey mechanical bulls--bucking and jerking and ripping at his legs while Steve held on with all he had and swung back and forth with the force of it. He gripped the thing under the chin and pulled until the head separated from the body. He rode the thing down to the ground while it dropped like a sack of bricks and swung at another with the head in his hands.

“Six o’clock!”

Natasha’s voice rang out in his ears inside his helmet, coming through loud and clear over the communicator. He dropped to one knee and felt the impact of the toe of her boot against his behind and then the weight of her against the shell of the shield on his back.

“Go!”

He rose quickly as she pushed off and turned in time to see her fly through the air, out of the tangle of whole and ragged robots to a more open space where she could get clean shots from. He grinned, always impressed with her resourcefulness, and whipped the shield off of his back to stop the metal fist swiftly coming toward him. Stark zipped by overhead, the limp form of someone injured in his arms, a repulsor blast taking out a handful of bots as he passed.

What they needed right then was the Hulk. He could barrel through, clear a path, and rip them apart like they were toys. What they absolutely could not utilize was the Hulk. The spaces were too small, there were too many civilians still mixed up in the chaos. Bruce remained at the Tower, using the uplink to whatever satellite was overhead to give them a better idea of how many bots there were and how densely packed they were in the side streets.

“Where are the Fantastic Four? Isn’t Doom their guy?” The faint _thwunk_ of the Clint’s bowstring came clearly over the comms.

“Fantastic Four?” Steve whipped his arm back, crashing the edge of the shield through the chest of the nearest robot.

“Yeah, guy that sets himself on fire, another one made of rocks-- _futzin’ metal asshat_!”

Natasha laughed into her mic, “Clint, you shouldn’t talk about Stark like that.” The percussion of her successive shots echoed through the narrow side-street she’d made her way onto, trying to hold back the Doombots and clear a group of civilians. Steve was nearly on top of it. The sound seemed exponentially louder as it crashed around him and reverberated in the communicator in his ear.

The momentary distraction was enough. Steve felt a tug at his arm, his shield gone. His fist crunched against unforgiving metal. The thing blocked, dodged, competed like it was learning to defend itself against him.

“Guys? This may not be the _best_ time to let you know this, but, ah, they’re rebuilding themselves.” He was only half listening as Stark described the situation. Repulsor beams made the ground shudder. Evidently, the trail of mangled bot bodies behind them, the path they’d cut, was slowly but surely filling up again. “They’re like lizards! Cut off a limb, new one grows back! Looks like we gotta completely destroy the heads or we’re screwed.”

“Sounds more like zombies to me.”

“They’re AI, _good_ AI. The longer we fight ‘em, the more information Doom gets--the better equipped he is to deal with us in the future.”

Steve found himself being yanked forward, braided metal cord wrapped tight around his forearm. His eyes widened as the bot’s feet hovered off the ground. It started to zoom forward. He ran, his feet barely making contact with the ground. Steve was fast, but this damned robot was faster.

“They can fly!”

He stumbled, his body pitched forward, dragged by the tether around his forearm and the momentum he’d built up. He hit the ground hard, the air rushing out of his chest all at once. His lungs tightened, diaphragm convulsed, vision going fuzzy around the edges. He grunted and twisted as his chin scraped the pavement. The pouches on his belt ripped open, what little supply of stingers and ammunition he carried scattering as he was dragged.

Steve clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. Uneven road, loose gravel, bits of glass from dropped trash all found a way to rip into the thinner, more flexible fabric covering his limbs. He thanked God for the little bit of added bulk around his chest and abdomen, at least he wouldn’t have road rash there to deal with on top of the piercing pain shooting through his ribcage.

“We’ve got an incoming! Atmospheric disturbances, looks like Hill got that message to Asgard!” Banner’s voice was scratchy, the com link filled with static as the atmosphere shifted.

The air felt…

The air _felt_. Thick and charged the way it did just before a downpour in the middle of summer. It smelled and tasted, something with an extra metallic edge on top of the salty-sweet taste of blood oozing from the raw flesh on the inside of his cheek where he’d bitten away a hunk. The sky churned and darkened. The _crack_ as Thor’s silhouette became visible made Steve’s teeth rattle together.

The bot stopped dragging him, evidently satisfied with the damage it had inflicted. Steve’s body felt like someone had set a match to it, the burning pain of having skin ripped away overpowering the hurt of numbness in his hand. The bot hoisted him upward by his solid tether, drawing him close. Solid metal hands closed around his throat. He clawed at them, desperate, croaking and praying one of the team would recognize his need.

Steve’s body tensed, his jaw clenching tight for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a second or two. He felt like he’d just jammed his fingers into a live outlet. Thor’s hammer, sparking with electricity, the blue-white energy of it arching over Mjolnir’s head and dancing toward her target, slammed into the bot’s skull. The current carried through its arms and into Steve.

Its grip slackened and it fell, dragging Steve to the ground with it.

Concern flashed over Thor’s face, “My friend?”

Steve’s eyes flicked to the Doombot, acrid-smelling smoke leaking from the seams in its head and body. He nodded and sucked in breath, his chest tight and muscles jumping.

“Free yourself, I will cover you.”

Thor’s arm swung out across his body, the hammer slamming into a handful of bots as it flew, electricity shooting over them and frying whatever circuitry inside allowed them to pick themselves back up again. The great red cape at his back fluttered out behind him, picked up by the sheer charge of energy in the air--the same that was making Steve’s skin feel like thousands of bees were pulsing over his skin, gentle and caressing--and the light spring breeze that persisted in blowing through the destruction in the streets. It covered Steve, blocking out the brightly shining sun and his view of the battle, giving him a moment to unwind the cording around his arm and wiggle life back into his fingers.

His stomach rumbled.

The bile of an empty gut burned up the back of his throat.

His head spun.

Thor’s body whipped around, the cape revealing the scene, Mjolnir swinging just a hair above Steve’s head as he paused on bended knee.

“Cap! Two o’clock!” Barton’s voice rang out in his ears over the com.

Thor continued his turn, the sheer force of his strike and the power of the lightning he wielded taking down bots as he moved. Steve flung himself to his feet, his back pressed against the Asgardian’s for support and cover. The shield hurtled through the air thrown as if attached to a homing beacon from down the block where Hawkeye had picked it off of the bot who’d taken it, an arrow thrust down into the thing’s eye socket. Steve stuck his hand out to catch the saucer as it cut through the space just above the melee. The adrenaline coursing through his body numbed him to the shock of the impact. He slid his arm through the straps and slammed the edge into the nearest bot.

“Shall we cut this battle short, my dear Captain?” Even fighting, his voice was jovial and light, more boy having fun than ages-old, battle-tested being.

“Why? Y’gettin’ sleepy?” Thor laughed and responded in the affirmative.

“You guys gonna do what I think you’re gonna do?” Stark zipped by overhead, repulsor beam driving the bots into a tight group like a dog running around a flock of sheep.

“Yep. If yer on the ground, get the fuck down.”

“Aye, aye, Cap.”

“Got it!”

Steve took a quick step back, dancing on his toes, before dropping down onto a knee. He raised the shield over his head, bracing it with both arms and squaring his shoulders.

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the jarring impact, trying to keep his body and grip firm but his joints loose.

But it never came.

That was the thing about vibranium--it was completely vibration absorbent--so there was an impact, he could feel the force of it, but it was gentle. Like being nudged on the shoulder by a friend. It was eerily silent--no vibrations meant no sound.

There was just a wave of force--the equal but opposite force of the shield acting on the hammer--it rolled out like a wave racing toward the shore during hurricane season on Coney Island. It carried the sheet of lightning with it, crackling and deadly and beautiful as Steve dared to peek out to the side from under the cover of his arms.

The bots dropped, fried.

Windows shattered.

Bulbs in street lamps and signage exploded and rained shards of glass down over the whole scene.

Steve’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

He eased his arms down and looked up into Thor’s sunny face, accepting the large, warm hand offered to help him up.

“That was over too fast.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Says the guy who came late to the party.” Thor’s laughter boomed around him, bouncing off of the tall, shiny buildings in the silent air. He clapped Steve on the shoulder heartily, his smile wide.

Steve winced, his entire consciousness zooming toward the point of impact, to the shooting, stabbing pain of the friendly gesture against his shredded skin. His nostrils flared and he choked down the shriek that threatened to escape his lips.

“Captain, you are hurt.” The joy faded from Thor’s face, swathed in seriousness as he looked over Steve’s arm, eyes widening slightly when they fell on his hip and thigh.

“Not as bad as it looks.” He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “It’s nothing.”

Thor looked at him skeptically and drove his heel down through the forehead of the bot weakly twitching to life beside them.

Steve knew that if he kept moving, kept a forward momentum, he’d be fine. He knew it. That simple fact was what kept him on his feet for most of his life. It didn’t matter that his skin was on fire or that his suit was in tatters or that every step he took was like a jolt of lightening up through his leg or that the air was more painful than the pavement had been. He’d heal. It might take some time. He’d have to make sure all the gravel and dirt was cleaned away. Showering was going to be absolute hell. But he was alive and mobile and that was enough.

Thor hovered close, helping him heft fallen Doombots out of the way, clearing a path for traffic. The team regrouped near their vehicle, a sleek looking black SUV that was far more like a tank on the inside.

“Stark, get in touch with your contact at OEM? They should be in the loop.” When the Avengers had arrived on scene, the police and National Guard had turned their priorities toward securing the area and emptying buildings. Now that the whole mess was over, the field of debris and damage to the surrounding structures needed to be dealt with. Tony was already on it, asking JARVIS to connect him and to conference in with Agent Hill.

Natasha and Barton eyed Steve with as much concern as Thor had. He ignored it in favor of confirming that the civilians had been gotten to safety and the perimeter was secure. Natasha held out her hand, some complex piece of circuitry in her palm. “Managed to do a little bit of a dissection before they all got fried. We can have JARVIS check it out, see what exactly Doom is trying to get at… or has gotten at. They seemed like pretty basic AI, but anything’s possible.”

Barton was already firing up the car, Stark taking off overhead back toward the Tower. Steve climbed inside, declining help.

“I’m fine!” He leaned down, his field of vision filling with pools of multicolored light for a moment, to flip open the lid of the med kit built into the floor. He snagged an icepack out of it and lobbed it in Natasha’s direction. She squeezed and shook and held it to the increasingly ugly bruise on her cheek. Steve kicked the lid closed and frowned at the fresh ooze of blood on his thigh.

He was very aware of the way Thor drew himself closer, silently, discretely. He was very aware of the way he let his weight rest against the wall of a man in the seat beside him, allowing himself to be propped up.

They drove back to the Tower. “Rogers, you need medical.”

“Speak for yourself, Natasha.”

“I’m not the one missing half of my skin.”

“It’s not half. Maybe a quarter.” He forced a smile onto his face. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

His head throbbed, the pain of hunger and rigorous activity amplifying as his adrenaline ebbed. His throat burned like he’d swallowed a jar of cheap moonshine. He needed water. And rest. “I can take care of it. It’s not as bad as it looks.” Thor shifted beside him, jostled slightly as they drove over the speed bump into the Tower’s garage. Steve clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils, fighting back the urge to scream when the transferred movement made him sift against his seat, the tattered leg of his suit scraping over equally tattered flesh.

Steve hadn’t wanted to move into the Tower. He was content with the tiny apartment in Brooklyn that SHIELD had set him up with. He wasn’t even sure you could actually call it an apartment, to be honest. It was smaller than the one he and his Ma had lived in, smaller than the one he and Bucky had pooled their earnings to rent later on. Just a kitchen, a toilet, and a bedroom, really. He didn’t need much. He was only one person. He didn’t entertain company beyond the therapist that SHIELD mandated he see.

Stark had insisted.

Steve didn’t want to be surrounded by the ghosts that being near Tony and all of his toys seemed to conjure. The _What if?_  and _Maybe?_ of everything. Tony was the last link Steve had to his past, his home, and they hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot.

Romanov and Barton kept their own places, but spent enough time at the Tower to be considered residents in their own right. It was a dirty trick they’d pulled. Luring him there the way they did.

Natasha did it with the promise of a sparring partner who wouldn’t pussy-foot around because of who he was, wouldn’t hold her tongue, could take a hit and bounce back—or more often, avoid it all together and make him work that much harder. They’d started out at the boxing gym in his neighborhood, he swept the floors and wiped down the mats with disinfectant in exchange for use of the place after-hours. The owner had teased him about not going through as many hanging bags now that he had a partner. Natasha had suggested moving to the training center at SHIELD. Steve had declined quickly enough. He tried it once. He didn’t enjoy being gawked at like an animal at the zoo. “Alright,” she’d said. “Stark’s got his own gym. Every piece of equipment you never knew you wanted, a decent boxing ring. Totally private.”

Clint had done it with the glimmer of friendship. He wasn’t altogether talkative, but Steve didn’t need that. Barton asked him for help stripping a few quivers-full of practice arrows one afternoon. They’d chatted on and off about the differences and similarities between shooting with a firearm and with a bow and arrow. It turned into Barton throwing the Steve’s shield around an empty end of Stark’s garage where no one could get hurt. A couple of weeks and he was throwing and catching it like it was an extension of his own arm, as comfortable with it as Steve was.

Steve eventually found himself there often enough that it didn’t make sense to not just stay.

It was awkward.

But he was… with people. With his team—or _a_ team. He could be just as content being lonely in a Tower full of people as he could be in a tiny apartment by himself. And he did like the one-eyed golden retriever Clint sometimes brought around.

Steve found himself moving through his day in slightly less of a fog. Even if there was no one around—Barton and Romanov off on some mission only _Strike Team Delta_ was equipped to handle, Stark and Banner cooped up in the laboratory doing whatever it was that they did (Steve was fascinated by the things they did, but both seemed to have a tendency to be slightly on the sarcastic side, poking just a little too much fun at his chronological displacement, but _really_ their tech wasn’t all that different from he’d seen either dreamed up or fully realized in his own time and he wasn’t _simple_ )—the invisible butler, JARVIS was always there. The AI chatted amiably, could always be relied upon for a suggestion for a book to read or a movie to watch or help him find information on something he’d missed. JARVIS had even once suggested enrolling in one of the many city colleges, just to take a history class or two, get a feel for things.

Sometimes it was too much like talking to himself.

What he really looked forward to more and more were Thor’s brief visits, either on his way to or from seeing Doctor Foster or when he hung around after a battle. Thor was almost unnervingly like the men he’d known during the War, the men who’d become his brothers in every way that counted. He might come from another world entirely, but when it came down to it Thor was as much a soldier as Steve was. Thor _got it_. He under stood the way Steve’s mind worked in ways that none of the others really ever could.

They became easy friends.

It helped that Thor was comprised of all the best parts of each of his friends—the seriousness when it was needed, the quick tactical thinking, the easy smiles and booming laughter, the enthusiasm for life. It made Steve ache with want for what he’d lost and feel silly with anticipation over what he’d yet to gain.

“Tash, I’m not goin’a medical. I can take care of it myself.”

“Let one of us take care of it, then.”

“I just want to eat something and take a shower.”

He hated this. He was the team’s leader for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be dead on his feet. Shouldn’t be letting himself get the piss taken out of him by a _fucking robot._ Steve swayed as the elevator doors slid closed and the car began its smooth ascent toward the residential floors of the Tower that the Avengers occupied. Thor caught his elbow discretely, steadying him.

“Steve,” his voice was soft and friendly. It was always amazing the way he could turn on a dime like that, from loud and ready to fight and full of vim and vigor to gentle and personal. “You promised to show me your artwork the last time I was here. I shall accompany you to your rooms?” Steve nodded. He inhaled deeply, let it out slowly, and stared purposefully at his reflection in the shiny surface of the elevator doors.

He looked like hell.

He felt like hell.

His stomach grumbled again. Doombots didn’t seem to care that you hadn’t had breakfast yet. That you were running on empty in more ways than one. Neither did civilians caught up in the crossfire who expected a hero to save them.

They left Barton and Romanov in the elevator to venture to their own lodgings. Steve made it into his kitchen and sat down heavily on the barstool at the counter. Mjolnir _thunked_ solidly against the cool steel surface when Thor set her down. The vibration of it ran up Steve’s arms and rattled his teeth. He glanced at the handle from the corner of his eye, tempted. He could smell the salt-stained, worn-soft leather of the handle and strap. He wasn’t sure if the air actually felt like it was crackling or he was imagining it as he yanked off his helmet and pushed the snug blue cowl down off of his head. He shivered involuntarily as the carefully climate-controlled air hit the hot skin of his scalp and neck and rapidly cooled the beads of sweat working their way down though his hair. He yanked off his gloves and flexed his fingers.

Thor was smiling wryly from beside the fridge. “You were hungry?” Steve nodded. “I’m afraid I’m not much use in the kitchen.”

Steve laughed, the force of it hurting his sides. “There’s leftover takeout in there. Yer welcome t’whatever y’want.” Thor’s smile spread into a grin. He looked both completely at home and completely out of place standing there sliding a fork from the drawer and a white paper box across the counter all dressed in his armor and cape.

“I’m quite alright. I’d remove my armor, though? If you don’t mind.” Steve nodded and twirled his fork into the cold noodles in front of him. A warm hand steadied the droop of his spine. Steve stared down into the container, his fork having not moved. “You’re not well, Steve.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“A very large one. You’re oozing.”

“Captain Rogers?” JARVIS’ smooth voice filled the air. “It would seem that you have made breaking news.” The television in the living space flipped on. A news caster began to speak. Steve twisted around in his seat to see what was on the screen, ignoring the wave of burning pain that the change in positions caused. It was a grainy cell phone video taken from somewhere on an upper floor of one of the buildings surrounding the area the Doombots had attacked. He watched himself be taken by surprise and dragged through the street, a blue smudge on the pavement flying by. Whomever was filming the video screamed. Someone gasped, wondered at how Captain America had been beaten so easily. There was another round of screams and gasps and cheers as Thor arrived. Steve’s eyes fell on the red cape draped carefully over the couch, the armor sitting on the seat.

“Turn it off, JARVIS. Please.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Are you ashamed that you needed aid?” Steve slid off of his stool, shrugging Thor’s hands away. “Is that not what comrades—teammates are for?”

“I gotta get this off.” His fingers shook as he tried to open the zipper in the front panel of his suit. He fumbled and failed and tried again. “I gotta shower.”

“A cool one, I hope.”

“Yeah. Sketchbook’s in the bedroom. Y’don’t need to wait for me to look at it.” He knew it had just been an excuse to come up to Steve’s rooms. He was grateful when Thor let him continue the ruse.

Thor’s unnervingly soft footsteps followed Steve through the living space toward the bathroom and bedroom. Steve grunted, lips pressed together to keep from outright shrieking. He managed the zipper. Without the comforting pressure of the striped piece around his abdomen he felt like he might fall apart. He picked at the snaps that held the stared panel across his chest. With the front of the suit finally hanging open he attempted to ease his arms out of the sleeves.

“Please allow me to help you.” Steve looked up to see Thor in the doorway of the spacious bathroom, a stern and concerned look on his face. He tried his sleeves again, vision getting blurry and eyes stinging. He wilted and nodded and sat down heavily on the edge of the tub.

“Hill got that transmission to Asgard? Did Heimdall hear us?”

Thor chuckled and pretended not to hear or see the agonized sounds and faces Steve made as he eased Steve’s battered arms out of the sleeves of his jacket. He directed Steve’s arms up and gently gathered the slim blue shirt up, pulling it out of the waist of Steve’s pants. Steve imagined he was a snake, shedding his shredded, and too-small skin as the fabric peeled away from his sticky flesh. Thor took care over his arms, gingerly rolling the sleeves away, thoughtful not to prod at the ugly helical bruising and road rash on the one. He laughed again when the cowl caught at the back of Steve’s head before dropping the damp garment on the floor with the jacket. Thor’s general amiable aura was a comfort.

“I was visiting my Jane. She’s in London conducting research. Agent Hill sent her a text message.”

“Oh?” He often wondered how frequently Thor travelled back and forth from one realm to the other. Was visiting Dr. Foster or the Avengers as simple as a train ride out to Coney for him? Did it sap his energy to travel on the Bifrost or to fly with Mjolnir? Steve knew Heimdall opened and closed the bridge, did it affect him?

The wondering directed his concentration away from his immediate pain.

“Yes. _World ending. Need Space Viking. ETA?_ ” Steve laughed and clutched at his side and gasped. He reached down to unbuckle his boots and groaned. “May I help?” Thor didn’t wait for an answer. He went down on one knee and helped Steve slide his foot out of one boot. “I can take care of your wounds as well, Steve.” The way his name sounded, shaped with the warmth of Thor’s voice, was a balm in itself, intimate and close. “It’s not always that you can run off to a healing room after a battle.” He looked up at Steve as he picked up the foot attached to his scraped up hip and thigh to work the boot off of it. Steve hadn’t even had the time to yank a pair of socks on before they were barreling through the city streets toward the swarm of robots. His heels were an angry red where the inside of his boots scraped against them. “I know my share of first aid.” Thor raised his brow, lips spreading into a smile over the mundane term. He placed the second boot down beside the first and waited for a response. “Basic healing measures aren’t that complicated.”

“I can do it.” Thor moved back and stood to give Steve space to rise off the edge of the tub, turning for the door when Steve began to unbuckle his belt. He couldn’t keep the pained sound tamped down in his chest when he tried to ease his pants down over his hips. “Oh _God_ , I can’t. I need help, please.”

Thor turned back to him and gently moved Steve’s hands away from the waist of his pants. Steve mused silently at the notion of simply cutting the pants off. They were ruined as it was. He sucked in air, his breath rapid as Thor worked the garment gently over his hips and down over his thighs, careful to go slowly where damaged fabric and skin came together. The muscles of his legs clenched, the sensation of blood cooling as it rolled in a fat drop down the outside of his leg unnerving. Thor’s hands supported Steve’s forearms while Steve stepped out of the pants then hovered near the waist of his shorts.

“Yeah.”

An embarrassed flush spread down the back of Steve’s neck and over his chest. He sniffed and shuffled his feet to kick his pants and underwear to the side.

“Thanks.”

“It’s no trouble to help a friend.” Thor’s earnestness always made Steve’s heart thump just a little harder, given so freely, so completely honestly.

“So a cool shower?”

“I think that would be best.” He furrowed his brow and ran his fingers against the reddened flesh right at the edge of the wound on Steve’s arm. “It will be painful.” As if it wasn’t already. “Do you have bandages? Salves?”

Steve nodded and directed him toward the cabinet over the toilet. He didn’t get seriously hurt often, but it was always well stocked with rolls of gauze, sterile white squares, antibiotic ointments, burn creams—something for everything that might ail an Avenger. Steve turned toward the shower to fiddle with the settings until tepid water came out in a steady fall that looked like it would be far less uncomfortable than the hard spray he usually bathed under. He glanced over his shoulder as he stepped into the shower and slid the glass door closed.  Thor was frowning down at a package with blue block letters reading _BIOCLUSIVE._ He ran his fingers over the size listed on the package and glanced up to frown at the injury on Steve’s hip and thigh. Steve turned away into the water, feeling suddenly too bare under Thor’s gaze. He hissed and grunted as the water flowed down over him, bits of loose gravel getting knocked away by the force of it. “Shit.”

“Not in the shower, Steve. Who trained you?” He snorted and laughed, momentarily distracted. He skipped soap and shampoo, not looking forward to how either might feel as it washed down over him, and scrubbed extra firmly at his scalp with his fingers. Thor was scrubbing dirt Steve hadn’t noticed before out from under his nails, his hands so clean they squeaked when he rubbed them together. Steve grabbed a towel off of the rack and started to rub at his head. He pressed his lips together and whined when he the soft terrycloth brushed against all the wrong places when he tried to wrap it around his waist. “You’ll want to pat, not rub.”

“Yeah, I think I got that.” He slid the shower door open and stepped out, towel held over himself. “Could, you… could you, ah…”

“Are you,” he crossed his arms and smiled wryly, “are you bashful?”

“No.”

“My friend, I just assisted you in disrobing. I intend on assisting you in treating your battle wounds if you will allow me.”

Steve shifted and looked at his feet, “Y’don’t have ta. I can take care of it myself.”

Thor’s warm hand came down on his shoulder. The calloused pad of his palm scratched across the sensitive skin of the crook of Steve’s neck as Thor’s hand slid up to clasp his around the back of his neck, thumb coming to rest in the hollow behind his ear. “But you do not have to.” Warmth and color spread high across his cheeks at the intimacy of the gesture. “You care for your people, for Midgard. You care for your team, do all you can to keep them whole and safe. Would it not be appropriate to allow someone who cares for you offer the same?” His hand squeezed and relaxed. Steve fought to keep his knees from buckling, overwhelmed by the familiarity. “I require nothing in return, Steve. Not more than the pleasure of your confidence.”

Steve swallowed hard. The muscle in his jaw clenched and rolled under his skin. Thor seemed to take it as discomfort and withdrew his hand. Steve opened and closed his mouth like a suffocating fish. “I… I…” He nodded and made himself look from his feet to Thor’s face. “Alright.”

Thor smiled, turning the full force of his sunny disposition on Steve. “Good. I believe you would be more comfortable lying down.” He pursed his lips and glanced at the gravel embedded in Steve’s arm that the water had no mercifully rinsed away. “Now, what may I use to remove that debris?”

“There’s, ah, there’s some tweezers in the med’cine cabinet.” He gestured to the mirror over the sink.

“Very good. Now go make yourself comfortable. I will see to you.”

“Thanks.”

Steve went into his bedroom, sitting down heavily, the tight ache of his body settling in in earnest now that he’d resolved to relax himself. He rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose after he arranged his towel over his lap. The mattress dipped and shifted beside him. Steve’s shoulders drooped. Thor’s hand cupped his elbow. The chill of a fresh ice pack fetched from the freezer wrapped around his forearm made him shiver. His skin prickled and the path of the bruising winding around his arm throbbed like the neon in Times Square. Steve closed his eyes and ignored the feeling of the tweezers plucking at his skin and then wiping against the towel across his legs.

“Tell me, Captain, what exactly was the army of metal men doing in your city?”

Steve explained what he could, what he knew. “Not our usual bad guys. Barton said somethin’ about the Fantastic Four.”

“They can’t be so fantastic if they were not here to defeat their enemy.”

“I don’t know anythin’ about them, not more’n Barton said, at least. One of ‘em can set himself on fire, another is made out of rocks, apparently—ow!”

“Apologies. A bit of glass. I think I’ve gotten it all.” Steve glanced at his arm, fresh blood welling to the surface. Thor picked up a tube of antibacterial ointment and began to dab at his arm with a square of sterile gauze smeared with the stuff. “So the Fantastic Four derive their name from the quality of their powers, I presume? Do they possess some manner of magic?” Steve shrugged.

“Captain Rogers, Master Odinson.” Steve looked up out of habit, though he knew it wasn’t necessary to acknowledge JARVIS’ presence that way. “I may be of assistance in this matter.” He began to explain the team’s origins and their ties to Von Doom. “They are currently in Latveria dealing with the Doctor directly. It would seem he took advantage of their absence. Whether he anticipated the Avengers intervening or not isn’t clear. Preliminary scans of the chip Agent Romanov recovered show that data regarding the skirmish was transmitted directly back to Von Doom. The learning capability of his artificial intelligence is quite similar to my own, unfortunately.”

“There y’go. A science experiment gone wrong. Not magic.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and looked away, feigning physical discomfort greater than his emotional discomfort, as Thor smoothed the clear, plastic dressings over his arm.

Thor’s hand rested lightly on Steve’s knee. “May I?” Steve nodded and shifted and leaned down onto his elbow. He was glad to be closer to the surface of the bed when the wave of nausea hit him. He supposed it was just that it was everything at once. Fatigue, an empty stomach, the throb in his head and the pain in his arm and leg. Thor dug bits of gravel and glass out as delicately as he could, patting each small area he deemed clean enough dry with the pile of sterile two-by-fours, the small heap of bloody dressings growing as he went along.

“Captain Rogers, Doctor Banner would like you to know that Doctor Cho has arrived early for her meeting with Mr. Stark. She has offered her assistance with your injuries if you would agree to test the prototype of her tissue generation cradle. I’m told it is very promising. She also offers her general medical assistance if you would prefer it.”

Steve scrunched his face and fisted his hands in his comforter as Thor dislodged a particularly deep piece of debris. Blood welled up and ran down over his thigh. Thor caught the drop and put pressure on the spot it came from. “ _Mmph!_ Tell… tell ‘er I got it handled. But thanks—oh, God.”

“Are you alright, Steve? You’re very pale.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It just… fuck.”

“You’re in pain.” Thor began to dab ointment over Steve’s hip and thigh the same way he’d treated Steve’s arm. “You are allowed to express that you’re in pain, my friend. No one will think less of you for it. Least of all I.” He grew quiet again while he fixed the shiny, clear dressings over the large swath of road rash. Steve let himself fall, abandoning the last dregs of his embarrassment and turning his face into his pillow. The mattress dipped and bounced, wrappers crinkled.

“You don’t have’ta do that.”

“Nonsense. Rest.” Steve let him have the towel. “Might I use your bath?”

“Knock yerself out.” Thor huffed out an amused sound. His footsteps receded. Steve could hear the rustling of the plastic bag in the bathroom trash, the water beginning to run. He returned quickly, full of thanks for the refreshing shower. “Miss Darcy had me hauling equipment for she and my Jane, though I do not think Jane knew that was Darcy’s intent when she suggested a ride out to the site they would be performing their experiments at. She feigned a backache quite poorly so that I would take pity and schlep instruments and dig holes to anchor them in. Her acting is always amusing, though she only need ask.” Steve opened his eyes and hazarded a look at Thor, toweled off but still very much nude. He was tying his wet hair into a knot at the back of his head. “I apologize, you’re uncomfortable.” He pulled the towel from over his shoulder and started to wrap it around his waist.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, this is your home. I respect your sense of modesty.”

Steve chuckled. “Why does everybody think I’m so modest?”

Thor sat down on the edge of the bed, a soft smile on his face, “You know, I don’t know. I think I assumed it because everyone else seemed to.” Steve pulled himself up toward the headboard, covering himself casually with his hand, the ice pack-wrapped forearm cradled against his chest. “You are a very private person.”

“I guess so.” Steve frowned. “It’s not… It’s not on purpose.”

“Do you feel you must be aloof as the leader of our Avengers? In my own experience, amiability works much better.”

He shook his head, “No. I just… I don’t know how to… how to talk to people anymore.” He felt like he was always on stage, always playing a part. It was easier to be quiet, reserved, and modest—to be the old-fashioned gentleman everyone assumed he was. Not that he _wasn’t_ a gentleman. He certainly tried to be—

“You talk to me.”

“You’re different.”

“How?”

“I think… I think we’re alike.” He couldn’t quite find the right words to explain it.

“I understand. We have both had similar experiences. Leading, battle, war. The loss of a brother. The love of comrades—your Commandos remind me very much of Sif and the Warriors Three, the little that you’ve told me of them.” Thor’s eyes swept across the bed, falling on the sketchbook on the open side. He rose and walked around the bed, reaching toward it. “May I?”

“If you wanna.”

“I do. You say more with the things you commit to paper than you let yourself say out loud. I enjoy your work.” Steve watched in mild disbelief as Thor settled himself on the empty side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard beside Steve and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Well, I enjoy it when you let me see it.”

Thor flipped open the cover and thumbed slowly through the pages. He stopped on familiar faces and silhouettes, entertained when he saw himself or the other Avengers. He inquired as to who the unfamiliar faces belonged to and where the city scenes had come from, what had transpired in landscapes that appeared to have the familiar elements of the battlefield.

“This is your brother. He appears often.” Thor tilted up a page taken up with a portrait of Bucky. Steve wasn’t sure if it was a scene from memory or something he’d dreamed up. It was in the forest. The weather had been damp and cold. The men that Steve had really very inadvertently saved were battling the chill, offering prayers against pneumonia ravaging bodies already weak from being over worked and starved and beaten. Bucky’s determination to get back to camp had kept the whole group on their feet. Steve had rendered the serious set to his jaw and the odd pattern of bruising on his face, the practically white-knuckled grip he kept on the firearm in his hands. Steve nodded by way of confirmation to Thor’s query. “You miss him very much.” Another nod. “I miss my brother as well. He is… not gone. Not in the physical sense. But he is no longer the person I knew.” Thor frowned and shook his head. “There is a story here, yes?”

“After I went to get him—“

“This was when he was believed dead by your commanders? But you did not believe it.”

“Yeah. After we all got away, we couldn’t get in contact with anybody. My transponder got wrecked. We had to walk back through enemy territory and across their line to get to the closest camp. None of us really ate or slept for days. ‘Lot of the guys got sick. We all made it back. Bucky wasn’t ever really the same, though.” The soft, distant look on Thor’s face as he flipped the page made Steve’s chest tighten. “That’s my Ma.”

“I see where you got your fine features from.” Steve laughed. “And your father?”

“Never knew ‘im. Died in the War while Ma was pregnant. Didn’t really have much more than Ma’s stories ‘bout ‘im.”

“The same War you fought in?” In Thor’s experience, when people fighting in a war have millennia at their disposal, that same war could persist as long.

“No, no. He was in the First World War. I was in the Second. They weren’t really all that far apart in the long-run, though.” Thor nodded and continued to flip the pages until he came to the first blank one, close to the end. They’d grown quiet, Thor speaking only to admire a piece or ask a question, Steve only answering. The pain he felt ebbed off into a dull but persistent throb, though each tiny movement sent stabbing pains through his limbs.

Thor shifted to place the sketchbook out of the way on the bedside table. “You’re still in a great deal of discomfort. You look as though you are going to crawl out of your skin.”

“Nah, it’s not that bad anymore. I should probably get some ice on the rest a’ me or somethin’ though.”

“Do you want me to retrieve it for you?” Steve shook his head. “May I make an observation?”

“That’s a very serious face you got on.”

“It is a very serious observation.” Steve looked to Thor expectantly, waiting for him to continue. He seemed to be measuring his words before he uttered them aloud. “You _always_ seem to be on the verge of crawling completely out of your flesh.” Steve jerked his head back in mild disbelief. “I’ve offended you. I apologize.”

“N-no. No. Just caught me off guard.”

“You were different before, yes? Is it that you would have that life back? Would you not have been woken in this age?”

A hundred different answers jumped onto his tongue. His brows drew together, he opened his mouth and rolled his jaw. He looked away, eyes prickling with tears he refused to allow to fall. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Might I continue to press your limits?”

“I think y’already broke ‘em, pal.”

Thor made a funny expression somewhere between amusement and pity. “Would you permit me to touch you?”

Steve smiled awkwardly, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You seem… You are lonely. You seem to want very much to reach out but you will not allow yourself—or anyone else—to get close enough.” He moved fractions of an inch closer. His arm slid down from across the headboard and hovered around Steve’s shoulders. “I would like to be close enough.”

Steve stuttered and looked down at the wide hand laying feather-light against his shoulder. “Okay.” Thor moved closer, the warmth of his body like a magnet between them. Steve gasped clenched his fists when Thor came too close, his torn up side over-sensitive and throbbing with renewed vigor. Apologies tumbled from Thor’s lips. “It’s—it’s fine, just—“ Steve shifted, pressing the awkward feeling in his gut down as he turned and laid nearly on his side. “There… I… you can—“ Thor’s closeness and kindness and frightening understanding wrapped silky tendrils through Steve’s aching limbs and chest and head. “Can you--?”

Wordlessly, Thor engineered the request Steve couldn’t make himself voice. Broad chest to back. Strong arm wrapping around and supporting his shoulders. A knee placed _just so_ behind his. Calloused hand coming around to lie flat against his belly, the arm it was attached to supporting his as he continued to hold the rapidly warming ice against his forearm.

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m actually the opposite of uncomfortable, believe it or not.” Now if only the tension in his limbs and neck and belly would get that message. “This is just…”

“Strange?”

“Bingo.”

“Have you changed your mind?” Thor shifted behind him. The coolness of the damp towel against Steve’s behind was in stark contrast to the warmth of Thor’s skin. The towel moved as he shifted, a hard thigh coming into contact with Steve’s. “You wish to be alone?”

“No! No.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. The rough pad of Thor’s thumb moved back and forth slowly against the defined midline of Steve’s abdomen.

He envisioned the discomfort, the stress, the tension as layers of heavy Kevlar all around him.

“Tell me about Asgard.”

“Are you sure? No one ever seems very interested in my home. At least those who are not my Jane.” There was the slightest bitter edge to his amused tone.

“More than sure.” Steve settled himself back into the shell of Thor’s body gingerly. He imagined the top layer of Kevlar-distress disappearing. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell y’mine.”

“Alright. What would you like to know first?”

Steve frowned, considering it. “What’s yer favorite spot?’

Thor began to describe a balcony on the very edge of the Palace he grew up in, all made of smooth stone and brightly polished metal that looked out over the convergence of several perpetually running waterfalls at the end of some aqueducts that supplied water to the whole of the compound. “The water sounds like thunder. Feels like it—you can feel it in your chest, the rumble of it. I think that is why I like it.”

Steve smiled and settled his head more comfortably against Thor’s arm. “That’s a helluva lot more beautiful than anything I can come up with.”

“Nonsense.”

“It’s the bridge. Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Why that particular bridge?”

“Feels like home.” He could walk across the footpath and pretend his Ma or Bucky was beside him, even Bucky’s kid sister, enthusiastic and bouncing and loud.

Thor continued to describe the things that Steve asked about. The heaviness began to leave Steve’s limbs in earnest, pushed away by the honeyed gravel of Thor’s steady voice.

“Steve, my friend.” There was gentle pressure on Steve’s side, rocking him just slightly.

“Oh my God. I fell asleep.”

“You did.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No need to be sorry. You needed the rest. Though I’m not sure if I should be insulted that my storytelling put you to sleep or not.” His chuckle rumbled up from his belly, vibrating against Steve’s back. “But unfortunately, my arm has also fallen asleep and I fear I must use your bathroom.” Steve shifted and groaned and allowed Thor to free his limb. He rubbed his face and heaped the used icepack onto the edge of his night stand. The sky outside had darkened, twilight bleeding into it, the first pinpricks of starlight just barely visible in the deepest colored spots.

“Captain Rogers, the others have decided to order from _Artichoke_. Will you and Master Odinson be joining them?”

Steve eased himself up off the edge of the bed and grabbed his pajama bottoms off of the chair in the corner. He sat down heavily, doing his best not to touch himself while he pulled them on, careful not to disturb Thor’s careful bandaging. “Is that the fancy pizza place?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“I think I’ll stay here, JARVIS.”

“Will you be dining on your own?”

“Nah, they got normal pizza?”

Thor laughed from the doorway. Steve felt himself color at his bareness, looking at him full-on somehow different from the comfortable intimacy of lying with him… in bed. He smiled and accepted the pair of soft sweatpants Steve offered him from the dresser drawer. “I like pineapple. Do they serve it? That particular fruit does not grow so well at home.”

“No. Shall I order a Margherita for you?”

Thor rooted through the drawer for a tee shirt, settling on something bright red and probably too small. All of Steve’s shirts were too small. He couldn’t figure out what size he was. Every damned brand was different.

“Make it three.” Thor grinned and pulled the shirt down over his head. “Friend JARVIS, we shall eat in bed like spoiled kings.”

“Very good, sir. I believe the others will be quite envious of your plans.”

Steve laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Fucking Doombots. And princes from another world. And… people who cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kept this one less sexualized. I think that non-sexual physical intimacy is an extremely important thing. I also think that non-sexual nudity is an important thing.
> 
> OEM: Office of Emergency Management. They're the people who deal with the scary things, help organize/mobilize other agencies and assist the public.
> 
> You too can have fancy ass pizza. Check out Artichoke at [one of their several locations.](http://www.artichokepizza.com/locations.html)
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading. I'm working on the next challenge and hope to have it up before the end of the month at the very latest, I wanted to get this first one up before the draft was deleted again. All challenges going forward will fall into a decidedly explicit category. I'm still feeling out how exactly I want to handle Thor as a main character, I haven't written him in a prominent/POV role that often.


	3. Challenge Six: Clothed Getting-Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is hot on Bucky's trail, kind of. Feeling helpless and angry, he isolates himself from his fellow Avengers and adopted family. He says it's to protect them, but really, it's much more an act of simultaneous self-flagellation and self-preservation. Ever perceptive and supportive, Thor attempts to help Steve out of his funk, delivering a much needed reality check and maybe just a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic exists in a universe in which great characters don't needlessly get killed off and our favorite comic heroes get an itsy-bitsy shout out.
> 
> Steve and Thor are in a pre-established, if casual, relationship. Guess that's why he never accepted any of those dates Natasha tried to set up. He was waiting for his intergalactic honey bun to come home for a booty call.

The bright light of the open laptop on the coffee table in front of him illuminated Steve’s dark form. His head dangled low between his shoulders, chin tucked down against his chest. Thor laid his hand against Steve’s back as he came up behind the couch. Steve trembled and exhaled in a rush.

“What’s wrong?”

Thor leaned forward to peer at the screen, lists of what appeared to be coordinates and an encrypted chat arranged on the screen. The cursor was blinking in the textbox, the bright green pixels against the black background standing out in high contrast. A set of numbers that appeared to represent Steve’s side of the conversation had posted the last few responses, several minutes between each one, the last about an hour past.

_070418: PLEASE. I’M NOT TRYING TO MAKE YOU DO ANYTHING YOU DON’T WANT TO._

_070418: I WANT TO HELP YOU._

_070418: NO ONE HAS TO KNOW. NOT UNTIL YOU WANT THEM TO. IF YOU WANT THEM TO. EVEN IF YOU NEVER WANT THEM TOO._

_070418: WHEN I SAID UNTIL THE END OF THE LINE, I MEANT IT._

“He won’t come home.” Steve rubbed at his face and raked his fingers back through his hair. “Won’t come here, at least. Won’t let me come to him—doesn’t want me to.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, Bucky.” Steve straightened himself out and looked up at Thor, craning his neck around. Even in the dim light it was evident that his eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks flakey with dried tears. “Or, James. He seems to prefer James now. Says he can’t _be_ Bucky.”

“So you’ve found him?” Thor walked around the long couch and came to sit beside Steve.

“Yeah. Sam, Falcon, he helped me track him—searched for Bucky on his own while I kept up with the Avengers. Chased him, chased bad leads and good leads and completely outta left field theories all over the damned country. Finally found ‘im in Pennsylvania. Just outside of Philly. There wasn’t any HYDRA operation out of there as far as we could tell, haven’t got the slightest clue why he wound up there.”

“But he did not come with you?”

“No, I had to come back here before people started askin’ too many questions. Sam tried. We set up this thing,” he gestured to the laptop. “Been at it for hours. I just wanna go to ‘im, make ‘im see. Make him remember.”

Thor frowned. “I do not think it wise to disregard his boundaries so.”

“I know. I’m just… I’m frustrated. I fuckin’… I’m pissed off.”

Thor’s frown turned into a sad smile, “I understand the feeling.”

Steve plunked back against the couch, exhaling in a rush. “I just… I don’t know. _FRIDAY_ , can you turn the lights up?” He looked up at Thor taking in the full image of him. His skin glistened lightly, the fine hairs around his face damp and curled. He wore soft sweats and a dark red tank, possibly the most massive pair of tennis shoes Steve had ever seen. “You’re wearing a bun.” It was mundane and ridiculous and something to focus on that didn’t make him feel like he was twelve and helpless and trapped at home by the agony of ulcers and a stomach bug that his mother blamed herself for bringing home from work.

Thor knit his brows together for a moment and then broke out into a grin and patted the knot of hair on the top of his head. “Yes. Natasha and I were training some of the new agents. Evidently my hair was distracting.”

“Something tells me lookin’ like that was even more distracting.” Thor laughed and nodded. Steve’s stomach did a little flip flop.

“Many swooned.” He pursed his lips and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. “Do you know what _Photoshop_ is?” Steve laughed, scratchy and raw sounding, and explained what it was.

“It’s like you’re _Photoshopped!_ Right?” He imitated the cute redhead in that awful movie Barton made him watch.

 _“Ryan Reynolds, man, y’gotta love Ryan Reynolds!”_ Barton’d said. The jury was still out. Steve preferred his Netflix marathons, watching whatever television shows seemed interesting. The longer story arcs reminded him of the radio programs he used to listen to, getting to know the characters more intimately. Thor joined him on occasion, getting just as invested in the plots as he did.

A particularly bold new recruit made the same remark when Steve thought he was alone in the gym late one night and used his shirt to wipe sweat from his face. Steve imagined the exasperated young man was a repeat offender.

“Ah, I see. It does not sound so much like a compliment when phrased that way. I shall make it a point to thank him tomorrow evening.”

“You don’t usually work up a sweat.”

“Natasha is very fast. There were many young agents wanting to test their might against mine. I have been confined to the training rooms for that purpose for the better part of the evening.” The computer made a series of sounds, Sam’s photo popping up on the screen. “I believe you have a call.”

“Hey, both golden boys! Tonight’s my night, innit? Do I owe the downpour I just got caught in to you, Thor?”

“Hello, Sam. No, I cannot claim responsibility. Perhaps you have crossed paths with the Lady Ororo.”

Sam raised a brow, seeming to make a mental note to find out who exactly that was at a later time. “I’m gonna cut to the chase, Cap. I lost ‘im. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sam.” He looked down at his feet and drew his bottom lip into his mouth. It rolled out wetly between his teeth. “He’s a ghost. Got a lifetime’a training—and he could fade into the scenery even before all of that. He’s only gonna be found when ‘e wants to.” He clenched his jaw, eyes flicking toward the blinking green cursor in the encrypted chat window. “I think I learned that the hard way. Come home, Sam. It’s time’da let it go, let him come to us if that’s what he decides.”

“You sure, man? I got my hotel room ‘til the end’a the week, I can stick around for a little while.”

“Only if you want to. Don’t put yerself in any more unnecessary danger.” He paused and scrubbed his hands down over his face. “I should be out there with you. This isn’t your battle to fight.”

“Hey, Captain America needed my help and I didn’t say no. Why would I say it when Steve Rogers needed it?” Steve closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against unwanted tears, the smile on his face tight and tense. “You gotta get the Avengers back inna fightin’ shape. Everybody’s lookin’ at you ta lead ‘em. If I can take some’a the load off by chasin’ down our missing person then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Thank you, Sam. I don’t think you can really comprehend how much it means.”

“Eh!” He waved his hands as if to say the sentiment wasn’t necessary. “You just keep me updated, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Thor!”

“Yes, my friend?”

“Make sure this dummy gets some actual, sleep, yeah? Bump ‘im on the head with Mjolnir if y’gotta, knock ‘im the hell out.”

Thor chuckled, “I shall do whatever is in my power to tire him out. Be safe.” Sam grinned his toothy grin and saluted jauntily before the call disconnected. “Are you going to try sending another message? If I am not mistaken, that line is still open. He has not abandoned communication.” He put his hand gently on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Steve?”

“No. Ball’s in his court.” He looked over his shoulder, his faced scrunched as he tried to control himself. Thor fisted his hand in the back of Steve’s shirt between his shoulders and drew him in. Steve twisted, his hands caught between their chests, and pressed his face into the crook of Thor’s neck. He sucked in breath and let it out, a tremble shaking him bodily, a dry sob tearing from his throat.

“I know that it does not help much, but I do know some of what you are feeling. To be unable to reach the brother you once knew, to find him a changed man.”

Steve wrenched his body back, the heels of his palms pressed hard into Thor’s chest, his face contorted with sudden anger. “Bucky is _not_ like Loki.”

“I did not say he was. I said that I understand how _you_ are feeling.”

Fat drops of moisture rolled down over Steve’s cheeks. He hung his head, arms going limp and bending at the elbow. “M’sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Steve’s mouth opened in a mildly shocked expression as Thor reached out and wiped the moisture away as it tracked down into the corner of Steve’s lips. His jaw went slack, he leaned in minutely. “I understand that particular flavor of anger as well.”

Steve nodded and pulled away, settling himself back against the couch. Thor’s hand rested lightly on Steve’s knee, squeezing reassuringly. They sat there in silence for several minutes in each other’s company. Steve watched the cursor in the chat window blink, willed a new message to appear from _030345_. Thor stretched languidly, his heels skidding along the carpet and under the table, arms up over his head. He yanked the hair tie out and scratched his short nails over his scalp, rubbing feeling back into the spot his bun had rested. Steve watched out of the corner of his eye as the damp tangles of Thor’s dirty-blond hair whipped through his fingers into a neat braid.

“Steve, you cannot sit here and stare at that screen all night. Have you even eaten anything today?” He jerked his chin toward the collection of snack wrappers on the table beside the computer. “This is not healthy.” Thor settled himself again, an arm slung over the back of the couch.

“Didn’t say it was.”

“Sam is right, Steve, you _must_ sleep.”

“Not tired.”

“You are insufferable when you want to be.”

“Hey there, Cap.” Natasha ruffled his hair as she passed, a rare display of overt affection punctuating the sly upturn to her husky voice. “Pullin’ another all-nighter?”

“He seems determined to do so.”

“I told him he didn’t wanna yank on that thread. Never listens.”

“It can be one of his more endearing qualities when he is not quite so melancholy.”

“I _am_ sitting right here, guys.”

Natasha leaned forward and clucked her tongue disapprovingly at the computer screen. “Steve, you’re only hurting yourself, keeping this up. Let him come to you.”

“Goddamnit, Natasha!” He flipped the laptop closed with more force than strictly necessary. “I don’t understand why any of you can’t just let me deal with this!”

Natasha leaned back and crossed her arms, a skeptical look on her face. “I’m going to let that one slide because I know you haven’t slept in four days and you’re running on cereal bars and black coffee. We’ll call it irritability and move on. Come find me in the morning for sparring when the Steve I signed up for comes back.”  Steve glared, refusing to let go of what he felt was rightfully placed annoyance. “Have a good night, Thor. Thank you again for helping with the kids.”

He frowned at Steve, disappointed. “You’re very welcome, Natasha. It was my pleasure. They are not that different from the greenest of our warriors back home.”

She smiled and nodded before walking around to the other side of the common area toward her private quarters, “ _FRIDAY_ , can you set me an alarm for five? And remind Triplett we’ve got a date with the track, he owes me a rematch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and let out the breath he was holding in a rush, “I have’ta go apologize.”

Thor stopped him with a firm hand on his thigh, preventing him from rising off of the couch. “Let it go. You are both upset. Apologize more meaningfully in the morning, when the sentiment is motivated by kinship and not obligation.” Steve felt caged, Thor’s hand on him, the other arm across the couch behind him. “You are important to her. She does not want to see you this way. And from what I understand, James is quite important to her as well. Were I in her position, I am not sure that I would have the strength or poise she exhibits.”

“I know.”

They sat again in comfortable silence. Steve opened the laptop once more. He closed out the windows with the maps and coordinates, hesitating before finally signing out of the encrypted chat room and clicking the X in the corner of the window. Thor’s hand came down heavy and reassuring on his shoulder, calloused fingers scrubbed against the back on his neck into his hairline, the thumb pressing pleasingly into the tense knot behind Steve’s ear.

It always struck Steve, how much Thor said with simple gestures, how much he articulated without speech. People seemed to write him off as big and dumb and hot with battle-lust, unable to get past the images of Thor swinging his hammer, a snarl on his lips and electricity dancing through the air making his hair and great red cape rise behind him that were so popular on the news.

Steve knew a little of what that felt like, trapped behind the image of Captain America, back at the beginning and now.

Steve plucked at the keyboard, making his way past the strict firewalls that Hill and Stark had implemented to protect the new incarnation of the Avengers Initiative. He pulled up the latest rosters, painstakingly populated by _FRIDAY_ , updated daily to reflect training, evaluations, and medical exams. He narrowed the list to those who had swiped their identification cards at the door of the training rooms Natasha had reserved for her lesson that day. Thumbnail photos appeared beside names and ranks and links to read more detailed files.

“So, tell me what you think of them.”

“They’re all quite promising.” He pointed to a picture of a young woman with dark hair and a purple headband. “I think she is my favorite. Very quick, thinks on her feet. She has Clint’s endorsement as well, I’m told.” Thor went on to elaborate on his impressions of each of the newly-minted agents he’d worked with as Steve typed notes in a shorthand _FRIDAY_ would recognize and translate. He’d yet to meet some of them beyond initial recruitment. “They all have code names you know, like yourself and Natasha and Clint.” He gestured to the first photo again. “Barton has quite the soft spot for this young woman.” Steve found himself amused and intrigued at the information Thor offered.

“How did you find all of this out? I thought you were giving them a good once over, not having a coffee klatch.”

Thor’s brows came together in an amused expression. “It takes very little to offer a friendly ear between bouts. They have very interesting stories to tell. Some I believe I will consult further with Heimdall on when I return, there are very interesting lineages and abilities in play. He may be able to offer some further insight.”

“Mutants? Enhanced?”

“Not quite. Other kinds of peoples, beings from other worlds, other star-systems. Beings created by those others and left here.”

Steve’s head began to swim with the notion of other worlds and other beings, the enormity of the universe smacking him in the face—the smallness of it astounding when Thor related a more recent incident, a man he called a _Kree_ finding his way to Midgard and pursued by Sif. Steve saved the changes he’d made and signed out of the secure networks.

“So you’re saying we’ve got aliens among us?”

Thor grinned widely, “Trust no one.”

Steve laughed, tension and pent-up energy rushing out of him all at once. He settled back, easing himself into the curved space created by Thor’s body and the couch, giving Thor the chance to move or decline the close proximity. “Thank you.” He spoke out into the quiet, empty room.

“For what? It was nothing I would not have been doing back home. The training benefits me as much as it does them.”

“Not… not for that.”

“What then?” His face crinkled in bemused confusion.

“I dunno, just bein’ yerself, I guess.” Steve stared down at where their knees touched, brow furrowed and chewing on his lip. “Being a genuine friend.” He felt the back of his neck flush with warmth when he looked up into Thor’s serene face. A slow smile spread across Steve’s shapely lips, lashes tickling his cheeks when he squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” He felt Thor shift closer. “I am thankful for you, as well. You do not realize the support you have given. It is nice to connect with so kindred a spirit.”

Steve’s eyes popped open in surprise when Thor pressed his lips to Steve’s. He melted into it—the softness of Thor’s lips and the firm pressure of the gesture. The tickle of Thor’s short beard against Steve’s smooth face. The security of the strong, hard arm pulling him in and holding him close, making him tip his head and arch his back like beautiful dame in some movie—in his head for the briefest of moments they were Dietrich and Cooper and he had to fight the urge to laugh.

“If I’sill ‘ah et sable I woundn’ be’re.” Steve smiled and mumbled into Thor’s open mouth.

“What?” Thor pulled back, confused with shining lips and pinkened cheeks.

“Nothin’.” Thor continued to kiss him, pulling Steve’s chest flush to his and the fingers of his free hand working firmly at the tension in the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve’s stomach flipped at the surge of happiness that flowed up from his toes every time Thor handled him this way. He moaned openly when Thor pulled away, his bottom lip caught lightly between Thor’s teeth. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to return the kindness you’ve shown me.” He kissed Steve again sweetly, briefly. “The patience and understanding,” another kiss, the lightest of pecks, “since the Convergence. Since I lost Mother, and Loki.”

Steve looked at Thor through heavy lidded eyes, a hot flush of color rising high on his cheeks and he tops of his ears. “Been there. Kinda.” He let one hand, stuck down at his side in that position, slide over the sliver of sticky skin the bottom hem of Thor’s shirt and waist of his pants offered. The other gripped Thor’s shoulder, deciding whether or not to push him away. Thor leaned down and kissed him again, the tiniest of licks with the tip of his tongue, playful and sensual. “I’m… I’m not sure if this is the best time.”

His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a sigh when Thor pressed his thumb into the side of his ribs, in that place _just_ right over the bone, rubbing hard circles that made Steve’s toes curl inside his polished oxfords. “It is never quite the best time as of late.” The hand at the back of Steve’s neck came forward to cup his jaw. “What is wrong? Have I done something?”

“No, no. It’s not you. Nothin’ you did.”

Thor frowned, “Then you no longer wish to continue our arrangement?”

Steve scrunched his face in frustration, “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then _what,_ Steve?”

“Bucky, he—“

“Is not here. You said yourself, the ball is in his court, no?”

“Tash—“

“Would encourage you to take your mind off of your troubles in some way. She would poke fun and ask if we required mood lighting.”

“But, _Sam_ —“

“Is not here either. He is off tending to James. And you yourself heard his request that I ensure you get proper rest. I intend to follow through. I cannot see smacking you with Mjolnir as Sam suggested, but I can certainly think of other ways, if you are willing.” One side of his mouth turned up in a soft smile. He pressed a tender kiss to the corner of Steve’s lips. “I only want to make you feel—“

“ _Feel_.”

He chuckled, low and dark. “Yes. If you are done making excuses, of course.”

Steve looked down at Thor’s mouth, followed the line of his jaw over his shoulder, and glanced toward the open laptop. Steve’s had signed out of the chat, but if Bucky hadn’t, he could still initiate communication, it would pop up as a notification. All he’d need to do would be to sign back in. Maybe he should just wait. Give Bucky until dawn. Steve didn’t know where he was or what he was doing.

“Steve?” There was the slightest edge to Thor’s tone, his expression sad. “Why will you not consider yourself?”

Steve bit his lip and squared his jaw. He leaned down, shifting in Thor’s arms, to reach for the laptop. He tapped at the trackpad, setting the computer to sleep, and closed it. He took a deep shuddery breath and let Thor draw him close again, pressing his face to the curve of Thor’s muscular neck and shoulder. “Alright. Myself. For tonight, at least.”

“I am glad.”

“Just… slow, okay?”

“As you wish.”

Steve whined and groaned as Thor set to work. Thick fingers rubbed hard circles into his back and shoulder and sides and arms, breaking through knots and tension. Steve’s limbs began to loosen, joints not locked quite so tight, and he began to explore the hard body against his in much the same way. He smiled to himself, his lips pulling and sticking on the tacky sweat clinging to Thor’s neck.

Thor drew him close, hooking an arm around Steve’s waist and making him feel more waspish and delicate than he had in years, and drew Steve into his lap. Steve settled down across a massive thigh, his knees pressed into the couch cushion on either side of Thor’s leg.

Steve ran his hands up beneath the salt-stained red tank, working his fingers through the bumps and valleys of Thor’s physique, rucking the fabric up as he went. He settled his palms against Thor’s chest, the steady thump of Thor’s heart comforting and grounding. Thor gripped Steve’s hips, compressing the textures of his shirt and undershirt and jeans and belt down against Steve’s flesh, pressing Steve bodily down against his thigh.

Steve bit his bottom lip, turning it red and white and blotchy with the sharp force of his teeth. He arched his back, deep and concave, rotating his hips in a slow grind and luxuriating in the feel of soft cotton and stiff denim against his backside, rubbing at his cock in the process. He sighed, his lashes fluttering.

“You have such a pretty mouth.”

Warmth shot through him, the beginnings of a glistening sheen beading at his hairline and in the crooks of his joints. Thor was nothing if not completely honest. Sometimes bluntly so, sometimes poetically. He meant what he said without fail. And equally without fail, the unabashed complements, especially in the heat of the moment when they were more like a private observation uttered out loud, Steve always got caught off guard.

The thing was, Thor couldn’t care less about Steve’s physique. He appreciated it, that was for damned sure, but it wasn’t a determining factor in his attraction to Steve. Or at least, that was what Steve had deduced for himself, never daring to ask, afraid he might be wrong.

Thor was impressed with his mind—his tactical sense, his dedication, his creativity, his views of things. Having a Super Soldier’s body was something commonplace. By Thor’s own account, it was the rule rather than the exception among his people. Even Loki, lean and long, had been hard-bodied and strong. Though not all warriors like Sif, Asgardian women had stature and natural strength on their side.

Steve noticed, with increasing frequency, that when Thor complimented him on something physical it seemed to be some fine detail. The shape of his mouth, the intensity of the color of his eyes, the funny crook to his nose from being broken and reset on more than one occasion, the way he held a sketching pencil, the way his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks when he closed his eyes. All things, it occurred to Steve, which had nothing to do with the serum’s enhancements.

It made everything feel real.

Made him angry at all the failed dates, men and women alike, all the ones who just wanted to fuck _Captain America_ , who fawned over his body and didn’t give a hoot and a holler about who he actually was.

Made him that much more glad that Thor had come crashing into his life, making his ears ring with the clash of metal on metal and the booming sound of laughter and made his blood sing with the clamor of the fight and the intense, uncompromisingly honest intimacy of his affections.

Made him appreciate the freedom of their arrangement. The feeling of being loved as a lover and as a friend and as a partner and teammate and ally and as a whole person. The feeling of having the ability to get what he needed and give what needed to be given. The lack of pressure in the absence of the generally fleeting nature of time and people—he could never grow old with Thor but he never had to wake up one day and realize Thor was coming to the end of his life while he was still in the prime of his; he never had to worry about feeling foolish or stupid because of what he didn’t know because Thor didn’t care, those seventy years were a blip on the radar and the whole expanse of the greater universe was before them to explore and discuss and wonder at.

It didn’t hurt that Thor knew exactly how to touch him and just what to say.

Thor leaned forward, kissing him sweetly. Steve rolled his hips back and forth, pushing himself down, digging his fingertips into all of the skin he could touch, giving himself over to feeling.

For himself. Just being in the moment. Forcing himself to set all of the rest aside for a few minutes.

Steve groaned and jerked his hips sharply, rising up for a moment and settling back down, trying to relieve the pressure of his arousal. He panted, sticky forehead pressed to Thor’s, when Thor’s hands slipped from Steve’s waist to his backside, gripping firm buttocks through taut denim. His head lolled to the side, a wide, lazy smile on his face.

“Tired already?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then why’ve you stopped?”

Steve breathed out through his teeth, wondering how Thor expected a straight answer when he was _kneading_ at Steve’s ass that way. “I— _hnn—_ too much… Too in my head. Brain won’t shut up.” His cock was trying so earnestly to get hard. He was stuck in that limbo between want and need and complete distraction.

Thor huffed out an amused sound, nuzzling his nose against Steve’s and kissing his way across Steve’s cheek. “Quiet in there,” he mumbled into Steve’s ear. Steve scrunched his face in a mix of displeasure and ticklishness when Thor’s mouth closed around his earlobe, when he licked and grazed his teeth against the shell of Steve’s ear.

Steve swiveled his head around to reclaim Thor’s lips. His hands wandered down between them, falling to Thor’s lap, rubbing briefly against Thor’s cock through the soft sweats with his knuckles. He fumbled with the buckle on his belt and yanked at the closure of his fly.

“This is not slow.” Thor’s belly jumped with silent laughter.

“Changed my mind. Ain’t a fella’llowed ta do that?” Thor nodded, a wry smile on his lips. Steve pressed his hand down into the front of his underwear; hot, sweaty palm against his cock. “Touch me again? Like b’fore.”

Thor silently filled the request, his mouth otherwise occupied with Steve’s. He licked at Steve’s lips, sucked at them, and grazed them with his teeth. The tip of his tongue ran up against the front of Steve’s palate, barely touching, making Steve shiver and offer his mouth with wider intent—the whole thing just a little obscene paired with the sensation of Steve’s shirttails and undershirt zipping up from where they were tucked into his waistband against his skin with a purposeful tug. Thor’s hands slipped down, pushing loosened jeans and snug cotton away from Steve’s skin, sending little sparks of sensation up his spine as battle and practice-roughened fingers and palms gripped and kneaded and spread him.

Steve whined, high and pitiable-sounding. Thor tightened his grip, the blunt pain of it making Steve’s thighs shake and his cock swell. “Fuck.”

Thor pressed his thumb against Steve’s hole, firm but not penetrating. “My pleasure.”

“N-no. No. Jus’…”

“A proclamation?”

Steve’s face flushed, “Yeah.” His fingers moved blindly, one hand still idly on his own cock, the other stroking Thor’s obvious erection through his sweats in earnest. Steve’s nostrils flared at the sharp scent under his nose. Thor’s offered fingers tasted of salt and something else in the air, something undeniably like sex. His thumb pressed again, this time into the swatch of skin just behind Steve’s testicles. Steve moaned, reedy and needy, and let Thor explore his mouth. He bit down playfully, laughing around the thick digits between his teeth, until that thumb pressed in again, drawing a hard circle on his skin. Steve’s toes curled in his shoes, his calves and thighs tightened. He swirled his tongue, wetting Thor’s fingers as thoroughly as he could.

The slick fingers disappeared behind him, running down through the cleft of his ass, circling around the pucker of muscle, just barely pressing inside. All the while, Steve rocked his hips in the barest hint of motion, stroking with one hand and rubbing with the other.

Thor pulled him down, the weight of his arms enough to coax Steve forward. Steve pushed Thor’s shirt up once more, ignoring the annoyed little furrow to the prominent brow when he stopped stoking. He traced a path down the defined midline of Thor’s stomach and hooked his fingers into the waistband of the sweats to pull it away. Unrestricted by the elastic, Thor’s cock bobbed free, swaying once before lying heavy against his belly.

Steve stretched, arching his back low and pushing his ass up, rubbing himself against Thor’s flank and leaving a dozen wet, sloppy kisses at his neck and chin. He groped at himself, rolling his testicles in his palm in the tight space in his jeans. Sitting up, he pushed the open jeans down as far as he was able, his belt buckle smacking his thigh, and peeled his underwear away from his skin. He watched himself for a moment, hard and swaying in the soft light from overhead. Thor squeezed his ass affectionately, a content smile on his face, and moved his head against the cushion to move his thick braid out from under it.

Steve licked his lips and leaned forward, offering his hand to Thor. He smiled and laughed when Thor’s tongue swiped against his palm, wide and wet and hot. He wrinkled his nose, almost ticklish, as Thor laved his tongue over Steve’s palm and through his fingers. Thor breathed in slowly, his whole torso expanding attractively with the effort, when Steve pressed his cock down beside Thor’s and wrapped his spit-slick had around them. He shifted his weight on his knees and thrust his hips back and up once, slowly, testing the waters.

Thor’s grip on his backside tightened again, spreading him open again. He pulled Steve forward, coaxing him into movement. They thrust against each other, an alternate tandem, fucking into Steve’s palm.

Steve squeezed and stroked, his grip firm, wrist turning just slightly each time he jerked forward until he spilled, thick and white and dripping down over the web between thumb and forefinger, a warm trail over the back of his hand. Thor pressed his lips together, his eyes closed tight. He rolled his hips up and back, sharp and fast, his movement made slick and easy with the lubrication Steve had provided.

Warmth curled in Steve’s belly and the sole of his feet, the obscenity of the _squelch_ of his cum on his hand and their cocks settling in.

Thor’s legs shifted, nearly making Steve topple forward, and he came with a huff and a grunt in a spray of droplets over his belly and chest. The warmth in Steve’s belly slithered out into his limbs and a second orgasm, nothing quite earth shattering.

They sprawled panting on the couch, Thor’s shirt used to wipe away the evidence of their coupling, for a few minutes.

“I think I’m gonna sleep real good t’night.”

“Excellent. Then I shall not have to resort to using Mjolnir. You will, of course, let Sam know that I fulfilled my promise.” Steve snorted. “Your bed or mine?”

“Mine. Can’t stand yer mattress.”

“Ah, yes, I sleep on a _goddamn marshmallow_ , I remember.” They sat up, disentangling limbs and righting pants enough to comfortably move through the living space. “Do you need to check that before we retire?”

Steve frowned at the laptop for a moment. “It’ll be there in the morning. Sam’ll call if somethin’ happens.”

Thor smiled, “Good.”

***

_030345: PNSTNNY_

_030345: NE RGNL 0640_

_…_

_….._

_MESSAGE UNDELIVERABLE. CONNECTION LOST._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! So, I hope you all enjoyed this one as much as the first one. I had been struggling to decide whether to make this one the "first time" challenge or the "clothed getting-off" challenge. I had thought of a few scenarios for both and this is sort of ultimately what came out of it. In the end I decided that I didn't want their first time together to be a hurt/comfort situation. If just felt too much like projection and more unhealthy than I really want the dynamic between these two to be. We'll save the generally unhealthy things for everyone else. I WANT THEM TO HAVE SUNSHINE AND BUTTERFLIES, OKAY?
> 
> Thor is talking about Storm, of X-Men notoriety.
> 
> Clint has made Steve watch _Crazy, Stupid Love_ , which honestly wasn't that great aside from the scene in question. Steve told me so.
> 
> There's a little reference to the glorious Kate Bishop and to Hulkling and some passing references to Skye and her hacking and the Inhumans as featured on AoS as well as the storyline with amnesiac warrior Sif and the Kree guy coming to Earth, also from AoS.
> 
> The "trust no one" is an _X Files_ reference. I think that both Steve and Thor would find it funny considering the fact that Thor and the other Asgardians (and beings from other realms/places in general) who've visited seem to all be considered aliens by the general public. Before you jump on me for inaccuracy, _I do not watch the show. _I am just generally aware that Mulder believes in aliens/the paranormal and Scully is the skeptic.__
> 
> Steve makes a delirious reference to _Morocco_ , in which Marlene Dietrich's character says that if she still had some of her expensive possessions, she wouldn't still be in her crappy little flat. [The 1930 film is Dietrich's Hollywood debut and is also pretty memorable for featuring her kissing another woman and wearing that fabulous tuxedo.](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x15kom_marlene-dietrich-in-morocco_fun) The flower is very purposeful so that the censors couldn't cut the kiss without screwing up continuity, which Marlene, to my understanding, planned out. Her English dialogue was also delivered entirely phonetically.
> 
> And finally, Bucky's message says that he'll be arriving at Penn Station in NYC, on the North East Regional line, at 6:40AM. Guess Steve better change his plans for the morning. Hopefully Sam doesn't lose him.


	4. Challenge Nineteen: Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD is gone, at least officially. Fury is still underground. The Avengers are still fractured, a team in only the loosest sense. Steve spends his time between chasing leads on Bucky with Sam raiding Hydra bases and trying to find and free agents in the field who were compromised by the data dump. Steve feels increasingly isolated and as a result becomes increasingly reckless. During an extraction mission that goes horribly awry, Steve splits from the team to divert attention and give them a better chance at getting out alive. Mortally wounded, Steve's mind wanders before he fades away. On Asgard, Thor is alerted to an alarming situation and decides to go against Odin's wishes with the help of a few familiar faces in order to help his friends. He is left feeling conflicted over his own feelings and concerned for Steve's well-being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Briefly referenced or implied Sam/Steve.**
> 
> **Potential TRIGGER warning:** While Steve is not suicidal in this fic, he is certainly experiencing the effects of depression/anxiety/PTSD and is as a result extremely careless with himself. He is not actively seeking to end his life, but he does make it clear that he is not bothered by the possibility of having it end.
> 
> A huge thanks goes to [msmynx](http://msmynx.tumblr.com/) for listening to my ideas and helping me tweak the emotional content/subplots in the earliest versions of this story. This definitely would never have been published without her patience.

“Fuck!” Steve lost his footing, the loose soil broke up beneath him, sending him tumbling head-over-ass down an embankment and splashing into the rocky stream below. He wondered for a fraction of a second as he smacked his head against an exposed root and rolled at an awkward angle if he’d just let himself go he might have broken his neck.

“Cap! Cap! You okay?” Barton peeked over the edge before sliding down.

“M’fine, m’fine.” He wiped the pink-tinted spittle off of his chin and pressed the heel of his palm into his side, trying to gauge the damaged he’d done. It didn’t seem like he’d broken or snapped anything. He couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment. “Where’s everybody?”

“Bobbi doubled back with ‘em. They were on us, she was loopin’ back around and out onna the back-up route.”

Their comms were fried, taken out by some kind of electromagnetic pulse. They couldn’t contact Bobbi and find out where exactly she was, if she needed back up, if her cover had been blown. They just had to trust that she’d make it to the quinjet that was waiting for them, Natasha at the helm ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Barton had the utmost confidence that she’d pull it off. Steve had never worked with the Mockingbird before, but everything he’d seen so far in the short time that had passed since she’d helped them sneak past the perimeter that Hydra had created around the former safehouse told him to share that confidence.

They’d arrived to find the safehouse already taken by Hydra. The SHEILD agents inside had been waiting for extraction after their covers had been blown when Natasha dumped the agency’s files onto the internet. Some of them had been in deep cover. It wasn’t simply a matter of missions being compromised or failed, there were lives on the line. It had been imperative that they’d reached the safehouse in time.

And they’d failed.

Two of the agents were dead.

The others were beaten, starved, tortured.

Steve, Barton, and Morse had made their way through the house, taking out Hydra agents before they could radio back that Bobbi was against them, before they could kill the SHIELD agents who were still alive out of spite or necessity or whatever motivation these _twisted fuckers_ had for what they were doing.

Steve had no sympathy. Not for these people who chose to be on the side of evil, people who were choosing to do terrible things for a cause that ultimately didn’t care about them. They were a cog in the machine.

The young man sitting at the table, his forearms strapped down to the surface with a makeshift set of shackles made of his own belt screwed down into the wood, screamed and burst into tears when Steve slammed the Hydra agent’s head down onto the table. The body crumpled to the floor. Steve didn’t know, or care, whether the guy was knocked out or dead.

The young man trembled violently with dry, heaving sobs. He stared up at Steve with wide-eyed fear. Steve made the assumption that he looked a little more startling than intended with gore splattered across his face and arms. The agent’s mouth was a mess of dried blood and broken teeth. He was missing the ring and middle finger of his left hand and the nails off of the remaining fingers. His body sagged forward when Steve pulled the knife from his belt and sawed through the leather holding the agent’s arms down to free him.

“Please… please…”

“It’s okay. We’re the good guys.” He allowed Steve to heave him up out of his chair and get an arm around him. “We’re gonna get you outta here.”

A trembling hand came up to grip the collar of Steve’s sweat-soaked shirt, the ragged stumps of the missing fingers leaving a mess of infected fluid and blood on the fabric. “Please…”

“Please what?”

He pointed at the sill of the cloudy window, something shiny glinting in the weak stream of light there. Steve eased away from him, wary of his swaying, to see what it was.

A wedding band.

“Please.” Steve gently eased the gold band onto his remaining ring finger.

“We gotta go now. We don’t have much time.” He nodded and allowed Steve to lead him out, teeth and gut clenched both in envy and against the reek of blood, dirt, and infection.

Bobbi was relaying a body count and a fictional account of the skirmish to her commanders when Steve got the young man into the front room. In the end, they were only able to get three out of the six that had been held there out alive. And now they were running through the woods, trying to reach the quinjet before Hydra sent in a STRIKE team to take them all out.

“Okay, just… just gimmie a minute to get my bearings, alright?” Barton nodded and stepped back, giving Steve space to breathe.

Steve closed his eyes, trying to retrace the path he’d run along, trying to pick out the sounds of running water through the thick leaves, trying to remember the path they’d followed to reach the house in the first place.

“I think… I think if we keep following the water that we’ll meet back up with them eventually. At the very least we can draw attention away from them.”

They ran, picking their way over stones and fallen boughs, the cool water soaking up the legs of their pants as they went. The sound of gunfire exploded around them.

“I fuckin’ saw them! I saw that fuckin’ shield!” The sound was coming over the bank to their left. Steve whipped the shield off of his back and pulled Barton into a tight embrace, driving them back against the ragged cliff that made up the bank, hiding the shield against the earth. Clint’s eyes were wild and searching, his breath hot against Steve’s face. Boots crunched over dry leaves and snapping twigs above them. They held their breath, waiting it out for what felt like an eternity.

Back on the run, they climbed back up over the ridge. They edged forward, greeted by the sound of a firearm being cocked. Bobbi sighed and looked relieved when they cautiously stepped out of the brush. “Oh thank god.”

“We still have everybody?”

“A little worse for wear, but yeah.” Morse leaned in close, “He can’t go for very much longer without some medical attention.” The eight-fingered man was swaying on his feet, pistol gripped tightly in his whole hand, eyes scanning the area for movement. He seemed to be upright by nothing more than sheer will-power. Steve had to admire him for it. “Are we close to your extraction point yet?”

Steve leaned back, looking up through the canopy, gauging the bright sky. He glanced down at the compass on his wrist. “Half mile west.”

Bobbi frowned, glancing over her shoulder at their three ragged rescues. “We couldn’t safely put the jet down any closer. Didn’t know how bad injuries would be, either. We tell Tash to come to us and then everyone will know where we are.”

She pursed her lips. “I know, I know. I just don’t think all three are going to make it. We can’t drag dead weight.” Steve’s brow shot toward his hairline. “I know how terrible that sounds, Rogers, I’m being realistic.”

Steve set his jaw, “I know, I understand.” Steve’s head whipped toward the sound of a twig snapping. There was no telling if it was innocent fauna or an enemy combatant. Barton pulled an arrow from the quiver at his back and knocked it in one fluid motion, aiming in the direction Steve’s gaze fell in. “We have to move.”

He was so tired of failing.

They moved several yards forward before the second of the three faltered. Steve caught him, shoving a shoulder under his arm to support him. He groaned softly, trying to stifle the sound by clamping his lips shut.

“Cap—Captain Rogers, I don’t think I can keep this up.” He panted, chest heaving rapidly, and looked to the others. “I think you guys should ditch me here. My foot, I can’t—I’m slowing you down.”

Bobbi shook her head. “No, you’re not. We can’t move any faster than this, it’ll draw too much attention. It’s not you.”

Clint stooped to tie the eight-fingered agent’s shoe. He looked toward the third, silent as of yet, to make sure he didn’t need assistance. “Know what’d be real helpful right about now?” Bobbi looked at him questioningly, his tone only half serious. “A little help from Midgard’s Protector, y’know?” He looked at Steve expectantly, waiting for him to finish the sentiment. “He could just come in here and fuckin’… Fuckin’ scoop these guys up and _fly_ them to the goddamned jet. Problem solved. Swing ‘is fancy hammer and just—“ He made a gesture with his hands to indicate zooming off into the distance.

“Y’keep forgettin’ about Wilson. Don’t need to arrange interdimensional travel to get help from _him._ ”

“ _You_ keep forgettin’ you, Tash and Hill are the only damn one’s who’ve met the guy. Y’keep talkin’ a big talk and never producing anything.” There was Fury too. But he was still playing dead.

Steve grabbed the second agent’s jaw, making him look Steve in the eye. “Do y’trust me?” He nodded once, solemnly. “Then hold on tight, alright?” Steve took the shield off of his back, mindful that the top edge rose over his shoulders, and pushed his arm through the straps. He settled the second agent across his shoulders, one arm through his legs, the other keeping hold of his bicep. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“Alright then, let’s move.”

They made it another quarter of a mile before a bullet hit the shield and dropped into the dirt. Steve swore under his breath as they collectively hit the ground, more bullets creating splinters as they struck trees.

They were _so close_.

“We have to split up.” The man on his shoulders safely propped against a stump, Steve turned to Morse and Barton.

“What the fuck’er you talking about?”

“I’ll go that way, distract ‘em. You ‘n Bobbi get them to the jet.” Barton nodded.

“We’ll wait for you.”

“No, you can’t. You’ll blow her cover. She’s chasing you, remember? She radios in, says she has you and the escapees in sight and that whoever is on our tail right now needs to go after me.” Steve looked down at himself, clad in a vest, proper boots, shield on his arm. “Take this.”

Barton’s face contorted with discomfort. “Cap, no—“

“I’ve got a vest. I’ll be fine, these guys aren’t armored at all.” He paused, running his fingers over the edge of the shield. “They catch me, I don’t want ‘em ta get it.” He pressed the shield toward Barton, persistent. “And you can use this thing. You know you can. _Take it._ ”

He’d be exposed—a nerve ripe for the picking. A jolt of adrenaline tickled at his spine.

“Rogers you’ll be stranded if you don’t make it to the jet.”

“I’ll figure it out. Snuck into a Hydra base and marched a hundred prisoners through enemy territory, remember?” He smiled, trying to look as casual as possible. “I’ll be fine. I’ll make contact as soon as I can if it comes ta that.”

***

Clint wasn’t happy, but he followed orders. They raced as quickly as they could toward the jet, screaming for Natasha to lower the ramp in the back as they broke through the tree line, comms still a bust. Bobbi helped secure the rescued agents into seatbelts before she jogged down the ramp.

“One minute, Clint. One minute. Then you have to take off.”

“Bob, I can’t do this.”

“You have to.” Her gloved hands cradled his jaw gently, thumbs rubbing comfortingly over his stubbly cheeks. “We’ll get ‘im out.” She leaned in, pressing her lips briefly to his sweated brow. “I promise.”

He nodded and straightened up, squaring himself off. “The turbine in the center. You can take that one out and we can stay in the air, it’ll look pretty convincingly like yer tryin’a shoot us down.”

She smiled and stepped off the ramp, unholstering her gun and cocking it. “Got it.” She waited for the jet to lift off before she started firing.

***

Steve ran, leading the pair of Hydra agents as far away from the others as possible. It felt like they had an endless supply of ammunition.

And that they’d never been to a damned shooting range in their lives. It was like they were firing blindly, just hoping to hit him and not really taking aim.

Until he felt a pinch at his thigh.

Another at his shoulder.

He thought about the stories he’d heard during the War. Tales of possessed men who took a bullet and kept coming as if they’d never been hit, taking a handful of others with them before they stormed through the gates of Hell.

Steve swerved, trying to loop back around to the water, thinking he could follow it to civilization, knowing the jet was gone—hoping it was gone.

Another pinch, a red-hot pain through his side, just below his vest.

He wasn’t sure how he wound up on the ground, his face in the dirt, pain shooting up into his palms and knees.

He had to keep moving forward.

The fingers of his right hand were numb, the skin an unnatural white. His shoulder ached and burned.

His pants were wet, sticky, warm—difficult to move in with blood pumping out of the wound in his thigh—a clean shot, through and through. He laughed, wild and high, imagining he could close one eye and see clear through his flesh.

Steve’s heart hammered and fluttered in his chest, battering itself against his ribcage in a futile attempt to keep working when there was nothing to work with. Flames erupted in his lungs as he dragged air into them with the sheer force of his will.

He was so _tired._

Who was shouting? Didn’t they know he needed sleep? They had to be quiet.

He dropped down heavily onto his side, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling—the sky? He thought he was outside. He was sure he was outside.

His vision blurred with colors. He felt as though he could _see_ the sounds around him, wondered if he reached out he could grab onto one of the sounds and hold it. Bullets and leaves and animals and shouting and blue sky and green flora and brown earth all came together, clashing violently into each other. He felt like he was underwater, being held down into the bowl of the toilet at school or in the tub at home, a cool bath to bring down a fever that if he just sank below the surface for long enough he might—

Steve closed his eyes and the galaxy swam in front of him, thousands of hues and pinpricks of light all swirling together. He tried to hook his fingers into one of the dozens of thoughts running through his head, reality not quite making sense any longer.

 _Thor_.

Thor lived in space. Was it the same space? Where were all these stars coming from?

Thor could have helped them. Barton was right. He was damned near invincible or close enough to it. Maybe they would have gotten everyone out okay. Why hadn’t they called him?

Was this the abyss Thor’s brother had fallen into? This flowing, changing pool of color? Was it the strange twisting void that had swallowed Schmidt whole that day on the Valkyrie?

Heimdall would know.

Heimdall knew everything. That’s what Thor had said.

Steve would ask Heimdall. If he was floating through space then surely he’d be able to get to Heimdall and ask. But if he was floating in space—did that mean he’d been turned to star stuff? That would be a gas. Become a star, get plucked out of the sky, explode into brilliant dust and fade away.

His body ached as though he was being torn limb from limb. Drawn and quartered. Lit on fire. Tossed through the air on the Cyclone.

Pain shot through his head like he’d been slammed down on the pavement, his head leaving a nice smear of bright red blood on the concrete behind the picture house.

 _A gas_. No one said that anymore. He had to remember things like that now.

The contents of his stomach surged up the back of his throat and reality fell completely away, colors and light and sound gone.

***

Natasha radioed in to SHIELD. Clint could see people rushing around on the fight deck of the hellicarrier even from the height they were at.

“We’re almost home-free, gentlemen. Medical will be waiting when we land.”

She flipped switches and punched buttons and put the jet on autopilot to help Clint get the three rescued agents ready to disembark. The quiet one looked up at Natasha with distain.

“I can do it myself. Help them.” He jerked his chin toward the other two, much more visibly worse for wear.

“You sure?”

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Barton whipped his head around, “Excuse me?”

“Just get her out of my face.”

“Do you have a problem, agent?”

He fumbled with the buckles on his harness for a moment. “I do. I’ve got a big problem and I’m lookin’ right at it.”

“You do realize she just helped save your life.”

“She’s the one who put me in danger in the first place, Barton.” He got to his feet, leaning heavily back against the headrest of his seat. “She saved millions and I’m fuckin’ real happy about that. But tell that to my dead partner. None of us are safe. She didn’t just blow’er own covers—she blew all of ours.”

He looked up at Barton with his lip curled up in disgust and found himself slammed firmly back against the wall. “You can fuckin’ eat shit.” His shoulders hitched up awkwardly, sweat-stained shirt bunched firmly in Clint’s hands. “Should’a left you out there. Yer ungrateful ass innit worth her time,” Clint let one handful of shirt go to jab a finger in Natasha’s direction, “or mine.” He released the shirt entirely, smoothing the wrinkles he’d made haphazardly. “And certainly not worth Rog—“

Clint didn’t see the tightly curled fist coming until it was too late to stop it. He was sprawled on the floor, lip split wide. “Fuck you too, Barton. Where were you when the agency was goin’a shit? Why aren’t _you_ compromised?” Clint started to get to his feet, face flushed and pulse throbbing in his temple.

“Clint, don’t.” Her hand was light, a touch at the small of his back enough to snap him back into some semblance of self-control. Her tone was soft and sure as the agent drew himself up as tall as he could. “I know what I did. It wasn’t right, not for all of you. I signed the warrants for your capture the moment I hit that return key. But I wasn’t wrong either. So you can either be grateful that you’re alive and mourn your dead with the rest of us or start imagining what your place in the world will be if we let Pierce and Hydra take control that day.”

Natasha watched him stumble down the ramp and sit heavily on one of the waiting stretchers. Relief washed over his features as the med tech helped him lie down. Natasha’s features tightened with the briefest hint of outrage.

“I told you Melinda should have flown.”

Maria was stern and severe, distressed at the loss of three more of their own and the condition the remaining three were brought back in. “I swear, it’s like they lost their humanity somewhere along the way.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily. “Where’s Rogers?”

“We lost him, ma’am.”

“Excuse me?” She thought he was joking, they’d lost him on the hellicarrier, his shield was right there.

“We split up to divert attention. He didn’t make the extraction.” Clint ran his fingers over the edge of the shield, propped up against the side of his chair, and nursed at his split lip by pulling it into his mouth to soothe with his tongue. “He’s still in the live window. You know Steve. He’s not gonna risk someone else’s life when ‘e can risk his own.”

“We have confidence he’ll make the secondary extraction cut-off. This _is_ Rogers we’re talking about. All he has to worry about now is himself. He’ll do it.”

“Well then, until he makes contact we have to operate under the assumption that Hydra has him.” She barked out a laugh. “He’d be better off dead if that’s the case.” She rose from the seat behind her desk, flicking her fingers across the top, scrolling through files on the holographic surface. “Get in touch with Morse, figure out where he is. And get yourself cleaned up. Go for a walk. I can’t have infighting. Not now, not when there’s so much still at stake.” She walked around the desk and toward the door mumbling to herself, “What the hell was he thinking?”

***

Heimdall stared out at the endless expanse of the realms, the writhing sea of light and color that connected them all. He watched and listened, taking in everything and nothing at once.

A small sound caught his attention, barely a breath. A whisper under the cacophony of the larger cosmos.

How long had it been since his name was called from Midgard in earnest?

He turned his attention there, searching for the source, finding it familiar and strange—a treasured shield-brother of his future King, weak and desperate and questioning.

He moved closer, feeling and seeing and sensing. He did not meddle in the affairs of other realms, as a rule. They were far beyond the days that Odin wandered and his sons made mischief among elves and dwarves and mortals alike.

But this seemed a special case. Something worth meddling in for the greater benefit of the Nine.

The Midgardian’s body hurtled across the Bifrost and into the observatory. He was made of pale, limp limbs and a slack jaw and clad in Midgardian armor. He hit the floor hard and rolled with the force of his flight through the inter-realm pathway.

Heimdall hurried to his side. Blue eyes stared up, unseeing, through the thick fan of his eyelashes. Teeth and lips stained red, clothing wet with the life that was slipping away from him and acrid-smelling sick. Heimdall cast his helmet aside and pressed his ear to the Midgardian’s chest.

Not yet dead, but quickly rushing toward it.

Midgardians always seemed so small and fragile with their un-robust bodies and fleeting lives—and always all the more precious for it—they seemed even more so when cut down in such dramatic fashion.

Heimdall gathered the man in his arms and ran for the bridge. He called to Huginn and Muninn, circling overhead, drawn by the commotion and unexpected arrival. “Fetch your Prince! Fetch Eir!”

He continued to run, no steed to hasten his way.

Thor met him just outside the city astride his mount. The horse sped past by several paces, protesting and slipping when Thor yanked the reigns to pull him around “Heimdall! What is it? Why such urgency?”

“My Prince, your friend—“

Thor blanched at the sight, “How?”

“I know not. I heard my name and turned my eyes toward the sound, I found him this way.”

“He—“ Heimdall carefully shifted the limp body in his great arms to lay across Thor’s legs and saddle. Thor’s eyes frantic, he thrust his fingertips beneath the Midgardian’s jaw, feeling for a pulse. The horse was set to a steady trot, Heimdall making wide strides to keep pace with the beast.

“Lives, but barely. I have sent the ravens after yourself and Eir.”

Thor hooked an arm under his friend’s shoulders, gripping tight at the strap fastening the armor under his own arm. “The All-father, he will not—you can’t— _Steve_ , he—“

“Is worth the displeasure of my King. Now go quickly!”

Thor slapped the reigns, the sound like the crack of a whip, sending his horse flying back toward the city and through the palace gates. Eir approached calmly, Huginn perched on her shoulder. The bird leaned close, snuggling up next to her cheek with cat-like affection, as if whispering secrets to her.

“Please, my lady, your help is needed.”

Eir raised a brow, haughty and disinterested, as Thor slipped carefully down off of his horse and maneuvered Steve into his arms.

“ _Please,_ he is a warrior as worthy as any son of Asgard and my friend. Please, Eir.” He could hear the panic beginning to rise in his voice, a sharpness cutting through the gravel. He edged closer, unwilling to disturb his friend more than necessary

“How often are your Midgardian _acquaintances_ going to turn up on Asgard’s threshold in need of help? My apprentices and I are not beholden to them.”

Thor shifted the limp body in his arms, cradling Steve’s head more carefully, ignoring the accusation in her tone. His eyes had fallen mostly closed. Thor feared Steve was slipping away even as he begged. A drop of blood made a thick, wet sound as it rolled off the tip of Steve’s finger and hit the highly polished floor, splattering and hitting Thor’s boot. He strode forward, forcing the healer to look up at him, making her step back lest the mess of injury and creeping death soil her finery.

“I am a Prince of Asgard and _you_ will do as I ask!” He clenched his jaw tight, the muscle rolling and seizing uncomfortably for an instant.

“Heimdall should not have brought him here. This is no casualty of our own making. You may be my Prince but you are _not_ my master.”

Steve was too still. Thor’s hands feet tacky with blood. His mouth struggled to form words when he looked down to find the front of his shawl; ruined, sky blue wool stained purple. His cruel composure crumbled.

“Please.” He felt cowed and childish against her will—her power to deny what Steve so clearly needed.

Odin moved calmly down the wide stone steps, his slippered feet barely making a sound, the hem of his robes pooling on the steps around him, Muninn gliding behind.

“Eir.”

Odin raised a silvery brow and folded his hands precisely. The healer turned sharply on her heel, upsetting Huginn and making him squawk indignantly before taking off over Thor’s shoulder out toward the city. She waved her hand, the motion equally as sharp, beckoning Thor after her.

“Come.” Thor followed close behind, practically tripping on Eir’s dove-colored gown, willing her to move faster. She gestured toward the Soul Forge, infuriatingly casual as she stroked her fingers though the red-gold field of light, gentle as a lover. Thor set the body in his arms down just as gently, hovering close, nearly disturbing the field as it shifted and shimmered and formed a clone of the body below it.

“Can you help?” He felt his father’s hand at his elbow, firm and steady.

Eir scoffed, “Of course I can. It is a matter of whether or not I _should_.”

Thor’s heart fluttered at the sight of bright red sparks blooming over the cast of Steve’s form—an ugly channel through his thigh, ripped flesh at his flank and pooling blood in his belly, shattered bone and hemorrhaging muscle at his shoulder. His heart throbbed on, shuddering and shaking in his chest and threatening to stop altogether. Dark red spread lazily from one side of his double’s skull to the other.

Thor prayed Steve had never felt the injury, a graze but harmful nonetheless.

“Will he live if you tend to him?” Odin was quiet and commanding.

“Certainly.”

“Then _tend_ to him.”

Eir sucked in her cheeks and thrust her chin up defiantly. She twisted her fingers in the forge’s light, making Steve’s injuries burn in bright contrast. Her apprentices hovered close, ready to abandon their duties or fulfil them at their Lady’s command.

“You,” She cast her gaze onto the youngest of the gaggle. “Get this off of him.” She waved her hand dismissively at Steve. “I cannot treat what I cannot see and touch.” The girl approached, steady hands in spite of her terrified expression, and began to cut away blood soaked clothing with a pair of shears. Eir pushed up her sleeves and cradled Steve’s head in her hands. Thor thought for a fleeting moment that she might simply snap his neck and be done with it, a quicker death than he would have the pleasure of otherwise. Instead, she tilted it back, straightening his neck and holding his mouth open with fingertip at his chin. Steve shook and sputtered, bright frothy red and dark soil-like solid spilling from his lips. Eir curled her mouth in disgust while Thor watched in horror. She flicked her eyes up to meet his. “You are in the way.”

“My prince.” A kinder face, one that had taken care of him in childhood, appeared at his elbow. “We will do our best. Go to your father, you can do no more here.” Thor looked around, bewildered, not having noticed Odin’s departure.

“Yes, thank you.” He reached out to stroke the back of his hand across Steve’s brow, finding it cool and clammy to the touch, and startling himself at the streak of red he left smeared there.

The healer gently guided his hand away and pressed it to his chest. “Go.”

He found himself walking without purpose, his mind reeling with jumbled thoughts, his pulse racing with fear and anger. He did not realize he’d made his way half across the palace and into the rooms his comrades and friends frequented.

“Thor?” He looked up, dazed and blinking, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound of his name. “Thor, are you alright?” Sif rose from her seat before the fire pit, setting the book in her hands aside. She was always so beautiful this way, in soft woolen tunics and smooth hide leggings, hair braided loosely over her shoulder. She took his hands in hers, a light touch with her fingertips. “Thor, you’re covered in blood. What’s happened?” Her lips pursed in a concerned expression. It reminded him very much of the way Natasha’s expression settled when Barton was in danger. He barked out a laugh. If Steve was so hurt, what of the others? Sif laid her palm gently against his cheek for a fleeting moment, flinching at the All-father’s voice as it echoed across the chamber.

“Thor.” Sif drew her hand away and straightened her spine. Thor looked to Odin, waiting to be commanded. “You have some explaining to do. We will speak privately.” The king turned and left, clearly expecting him to follow.

Sif caught his hand lightly, stopping him. “Come find me when you are finished.” Thor nodded and offered a weak smile.

Odin repeated his name—that firm, no-nonsense tone that was both King and Father reverberating through the chamber from just down the corridor. “Coming, Father.”

Thor followed the All-father to his private chambers and into the office in which he often met privately with advisors and ambassadors of other realms. So, this was to be a formal interrogation and disciplining, not simply a father concerned for his son. Odin settled himself in the great gold and mahogany seat at the head of the table. He crossed one leg over the other and smoothed the wrinkles out of his robes. His expression remained neutral, a mask that hid whatever anger over the situation must be simmering beneath the surface, though just how angry he was Thor could not yet tell.

“When you brought the mortal woman here—“

“ _Jane_. Her name is Jane.”

Odin’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. “When you brought her here, I was… _upset._ But I saw why it was necessary. The Aether needed to be dealt with.” It went unsaid that Thor was still trying to make amends for doing what he thought was best, for taking the ship, for freeing Loki. He was still paying for his own mother’s death at the hands of Malekith—his fault because he brought Jane to Asgard, his fault because he brought the Aether to Asgard with her, his fault because he should have known that Frigga would have fought, would have died before allowing an innocent to be harmed for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time and not knowing what she had unleashed. “Why’ve you brought this new mortal here? He cannot be a casualty of some other’s realm’s aggression. There has been no indication of movements being made against Midgard. Heimdall would have seen something amiss before this. I can only conclude that this is your doing. He is one of your… _Avengers_ ,” at that Odin made the slightest of inclinations toward a sneer. “Is he not? Or is he your latest dalliance as well? You tired of the girl and moved on, and now he thinks he is entitled to our aid as favored of our prince.”

Thor measured his words carefully before he spoke.

He felt as though he were constantly measuring, doing a careful dance around the All-father to stave off his grief-induced wrath. After all had been said and done, after the Aether was contained and delivered for safe-keeping and the Nine were no longer in immediate danger—he thought that he and his father had come to an understanding, that they’d found their place with each other.

Since he’d returned after those sweet short days with Jane, he felt as though he were speaking to another person entirely, that the entire exchange had never happened.

“Yes, he is one of Midgard’s chief protectors. He is my _shield-brother and friend._ But I did not bring him here. I was aware of no battle. I have had no communication with the Avengers or SHIELD since I last visited.”

“I find it hard to believe that you did not have some hand in this. Midgard has its own healers. There is no reason for him to seek help from Asgard.”

Thor could feel the frustration mounting in his chest. He balled his hands into fists, trying to keep a grip on his composure. Steve could very well have been dead at that moment. He cared not to quibble over the reasons he appeared there, only that he might be sent home alive.

Someone rapped solidly on the door. Odin called for the visitor to enter. Heimdall paused in the threshold of the open door. “My King, you called for me?”

“Indeed. Sit.” Heimdall carefully closed the door and crossed to the table. He sat opposite Thor, offering a sympathetic expression and a warm, dry hand laid lightly over his sweating fist. “Enlighten me as to your reasons for defying my orders—that no one use the Bifrost without my knowledge and permission—you seem to not understand that concept. You also seem to have quite the tendency toward breaking that particular rule when it concerns my foolish sons and their friends.”

Heimdall’s golden eyes flashed almost dangerously. He straightened his back and rested his elbows against the arms of his chair, hands folded in front of him. His eyes slid from Odin to Thor and back again. He drew breath in, filling his chest beneath his gleaming armor, and let it out slowly.

“Because he is necessary.”

Thor felt warmth spread across the back of his neck and race up into the tips of his ears, turning them undoubtedly bright red. He was grateful for having left his hair loose to hide his reaction.

Odin raised a brow, clearly waiting for a more detailed answer.

Heimdall closed his eyes, seeming to steel himself. “I was watching the worlds, as is my duty. I was listening for anomalies, for the mundane. It is in the spectrum of my responsibilities to notice all things, all people, all happenings—however large or small. It is also within my duties to listen for those attempting to make contact with me, with Asgard. I heard my name and turned my attention toward the source.”

“And why would this mortal think it appropriate to call out to you?” The distain in Odin’s voice was palpable.

“You believe that he was calling out to gain access to the bridge or the realm, but you are quite mistaken. He was dying.” Heimdall’s eyes slid toward Thor once more. The cords of muscle in Thor’s calves and thighs tightened as he fought the urge to leave Odin’s office to wait at Eir’s door. “He wasn’t coherent. He mused that I knew everything, that he had questions for me.” The barest hint of a smile tugged at Heimdall’s lips. “Can’t imagine who told him that.”

“This still does not explain why the mortal is so _necessary_.”

“It is not a simple thing to explain. There are unknown reasons that the forces of the Nine choose to work the way that they do. Why was he spared from death in his first life? Why was he woken in this age? I cannot see the finer workings of the past as clearly as I can anticipate the larger workings of what is yet to come, but he certainly has a role to play. Midgard…Midgard will be irreparably changed without his presence. Scores of the innocent will die. He…” Heimdall sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I can only see shades of what may be—a floating city, an inorganic foe, a lost brother—the Stones…” Heimdall squared his jaw once more, his brow coming together in a serious expression. “His survival is necessary. I feel his end but it is not meant to come now. And as I looked, his allies fled and those who would see him dead drew close. I made the decision to bring him here to prevent them from carrying out their desire and for the welfare of Midgard.”

“Midgard is of little consequence.”

“All of the realms are of consequence. Midgard is not merely a playground for those who would control her or see her people as less than their own, my King.” He stood, pushing his chair back as he did. “I do not believe I have violated your mandates without just cause. If you will excuse me, my post calls.”

Thor watched him go, both bolstered in the sense that Steve belonged there, that Eir absolutely had an obligation to help him, and full of anger that his friends so clearly were in peril and he had not been there to help when they may have needed him. If he’d been there, if he’d been available, would Steve have gotten so seriously hurt? Would he be clinging to the last shreds of life the way he was?

“Father, you see now—“

“Get. Out.”

“Father—“

Odin’s eye rolled toward him, his shoulders stiffened. A clear dismissal. Thor wouldn’t press the issue, not now when the All-father might revoke his orders to Eir and leave Steve to pass on to Val—no. He wouldn’t pass on into Valhalla. Odin wouldn’t allow it. He hoped that Steve’s Heaven was real.

Thor paused outside the office doors as they closed behind him solidly. He leaned into the wall, pressing his cheek to the cool stone, the anger gone from him in a blink, feeling deflated and useless.

“My… my Prince? Can I do something for you?” Thor straightened up, shaking his head once in response to the quiet question from the attendant at the door. He strode away from Odin’s rooms, determined to wait outside of Eir’s all night if it was necessary. He needed to know what was happening. He needed to feel like he had some purpose.

Evening settled over Asgard with no indication of progress from within the healing room. A servant came and left, offering a chair and a chilled meal. Thor took the chair and declined the food, his stomach too knotted to accept anything without a fight. Sif came, sat with him in comfortable silence, her fingers stroking through his hair. She wove three tiny braids over his left ear in the time she spent. He relished the comfort of her quiet company, so few people did he find himself completely at ease in that way with.

Finally, somewhere in the blue-black night, the door opened.

Eir emerged, unsurprised to find him there. She surveyed him with a chilly expression as she untied the apron around her torso and slipped the loop over her head. Thor cringed inwardly at the sight of so many smears of blood as he stood, waiting for her to tell him what had happened.

He feared the worst.

“The mortal lives.” Thor began to speak, silenced by Eir’s hand held aloft. “I have closed his wounds and given him tonic. If he wants to continue to live then his marrow will perform.”

“You will continue to care for him then. To monitor him.”

“Absolutely not. I was commanded only to treat the immediate problem, not to waste better spent resources and time nursing the mortal. I will not allow myself or my apprentices to be any longer beholden to him. _He should not be here._ ”

“Where is he supposed to go then? Who is meant to tend to his healing?”

“You may do it yourself if you so choose. I will not.”

Eir strode away from him, bowing her head curtly, showing only the most minimum respect required of his station. The kinder of the healers poked her head out of the door, wiping carefully between each finger with the bottom hem of her apron. She motioned for Thor to follow her inside. He did, over eager and tripping over her skirts. She double-stepped to keep ahead of him.

“Come, he is here, resting.” They moved past the Soul Forge, its bed stained with gore, Steve’s clothing lying in a cut up heap on the floor beside it, what few weapons he carried and the armor he wore stacked neatly on a table to the side. The cot they had set him on looked easy enough to move without jostling him too much. Thor would bring Steve to his own chambers if it was truly deemed that he should continue Steve’s care.

Still too pale, still too still.

But his chest, though barely, was rising and falling.

Eyes twitched behind purpled lids.

Sutures glistened—smooth and soft as spider’s silk and just as strong, some manner of medicine and magic to stitch wounds in and out alike and dissolve into the flesh and offer strength to the tissue when healed.

Body bared, Steve’s condition was both more alarming and reassuring at once. A few bruises and scrapes were nothing much. His thigh was purpled and swollen, the wounds at his shoulder and side equally as ugly. The side of his face was a mottled mess, a large swath of hair shaved away to reveal the wound.

“He lost quite a bit of blood, I don’t think I need to point that out. I think he will live, but I beg you not to hold me to that as a promise.”

“His head—“

“Will be fine. I assume he was injured by a weapon similar to what he was carrying himself?” Thor nodded, the assumption was probably accurate. “The bullet?” Another nod. “It appears to have simply grazed him. There isn’t much flesh on the skull and quite a few vessels close to the surface, it looks far worse a wound than it is in truth. The more concerning part is the swelling inside, he seems to have hit his head very hard. He needs to be watched. Not just for his head—to make sure his gut does not begin to bleed again, watch for infection or dying flesh.”

“Will you help me? Help him?”

“I cannot.” Thor could feel the color and warmth rise in his face. “I cannot go against Eir, I am sorry.” She offered a conflicted and sympathetic look. “I can help you move him elsewhere or prepare him to be sent back to Midgard, no more.”

“He will stay here. I cannot see him go back in this state. There is a reason he called to Heimdall and a reason he was heard.” The healer nodded, apparently agreeing.

“How would you like to move him?”

Sif cleared her throat, hovering near the door. “I will help.”

Thor’s heart clenched in his chest. “Thank you.” He could not keep the emotion out of his voice.

With the healer’s help, they moved him on the cot and carried Steve into Thor’s own apartments in the residential wing of the palace. They settled him onto a bed in the guest suite.

“I must go, I am so sorry, my Prince.”

“It is no fault of your own. I thank you.”

Alone with Sif, Thor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sif eyed the sutures, some bleeding having been jarred from movement, with a wary eye. “You were always a bit more talented at fixing us up after a battle than I was.” Field medicine wasn’t entirely foreign to Thor. Most warriors knew at least how to stop a minor wound from bleeding, how to bandage something up or set a bone until a proper healer could be found. Loud and brash and headstrong and reckless as he was in his youth, Thor had had a knack for the skill. It was something that bound his shield-brothers closer to him, made them trust him more. The simple fact that a healer wasn’t always within easy reach, especially in a foreign realm, made it a necessity. Sif was too humble. She’d done her share of life saving both before and after their fellow warriors had come around to support her vocation.

Thor’s eyes swept around the room and settled on the crisp linens folded near the wash basin. He snatched one off the top of the stack and dabbed at the weak dribbles of blood here and there, adjusted Steve’s head on the pillows so that the marred side would not rub or press.

He was overwhelmed with the need to have his friends—his brothers—present. People to help him figure out what to do. He was immensely grateful for Sif’s support, but it seemed odd that the others had at least not come by to tease him about bringing another Midgardian home.

“Where are Fandral and Volstagg?”

“Vanaheim, visiting Hogun and his family. They left early this morning.”

Thor’s jaw tightened. The Warriors Three were always very much a set. They were his best friends, in truth, but they always were more bonded together than specifically to him. It wasn’t surprising.

“What am I going to do?”

Sif wrapped her arms around him, pressed a dry, affectionate kiss to his cheek. “The worst is past. You will figure it out. Just keep watch over him. I must get myself to sleep, I have duties to attend to in the morning—but I am only a shout away if you need me.” Thor squeezed her in a tight hug before he allowed her to leave.

He sat up watching, waiting for any sign that Steve was making a turn for the better or worse. The silvery light of the moon reached out in soft beams to illuminate Steve’s face. Thor extinguished the candles that his personal attendant came in to light as soon as the young man left—the glow cast harsh shadows, made Steve look as if he were wasting away.

Thor reached out a hand, fingertips tracing over Steve’s lax features feather-light. His lips were beginning to dry. Thor looked about, searching for the water pitcher that usually rested at his bedside before remembering his attendant had taken it away to fill.

He sat back down, feeling like every muscle in his body was clenched tight. He took Steve’s hand—calloused and dry and too cool—and tried to rub life back into it, as if they’d been on a jaunt to Jotunheim. “You must wake up, my friend. You are not allowed to die this way.”

Thor was beginning to get agitated, his attendant had been gone for hours. The moon was beginning to sink in the sky, its light no longer illuminating much more than the floor closest to the open balcony. He got to his feet and strode purposefully across the room, yanking the heavy door open and nearly walking right into the young man on the other side. His eyes went wide with horror and most of the pitcher full of water sloshed down the front of his tunic.

“My Lord! I-I-I-I’m so sorry! I—“

“Where have you been?”

“I’m so sorry, the King he—“ Thor’s aggravation went out of him, it wasn’t the attendant’s fault. He gently took the pitcher from his hands and stood aside for him to enter the room. “He required my assistance and-and-and then Heimdall, he bid me bring you a message, he could not stray too far from his post, he is watching Midgard!”

Thor set the pitched down and put his hands on the attendant’s shoulders, turning him in the direction of the door that led to his own modest chamber. He told him to calm himself and get out of his wet clothes before he came and told Thor Heimdall’s message.

Thor motioned toward the overstuffed chaise when the young man reappeared in his bedclothes. He cast a wary, worried look at the figure in Thor’s bed. “Heim—Heimdall, he’s watching Midgard. He is watching your friends, searching for signs of danger.”

Thor’s stomach flipped over, “Are they in danger? Am I needed?”

“No! No, my Lord. They are in no danger that is not familiar to them. But-but they…they worry for him.” He gestured toward Steve. “They believe that an enemy with many heads has him. They are preparing for battle. If they go, then they will be in grave peril, my Lord.”

Thor sent him off to retrieve Sif. She came hurtling into the room with urgency a few moments later. Assured that her engagement in the morning was nothing that could not be put off, he asked her to go to Midgard and assure the Avengers and SHIELD that Steve was not in enemy hands, though his condition was poor.

“Thor, we should take him back.”

“He would not want them to see him this way. And I do not believe their healers adequate in his state.”

“Thor—“

“No. They _cannot_ see him like this. They cannot see him broken.” Sif pursed her lips and looked at him hard, considering. “I would not want you or the Three to see me this way. What good would that be? To see one held high brought low?” It ran deeper than that. They both knew it.

Loki wouldn’t have chosen to mimic this man if it wouldn’t have hit a very specific chord.

“Would you like me to leave at once or at full morning?” Thor wouldn’t ask it, but he pleaded with his solemn expression. “I shall leave now, then.” She turned in the doorway, a light smile on her face. “You owe me.”

“Name the price and you’ll have it.” She shook her head, amused, and left him alone.

“M-my Lord Thor?” He’d forgotten the attendant was even still in the room.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think he is breathing.”

Thor’s eyes widened in distress and he leaned close, listening for breath, trying to feel it on his face.

Barely there, uneven.

Thor pressed a hand to his chest, felt the erratic heartbeat.

“Eir will not come.”

“My Lord may… may I suggest your Lady sister?”

“My--?” He looked to the attendant, confused. He didn’t have—“Sigyn.” He seized the attendant’s head in his hands and planted a firm kiss of thanks to his forehead. “You are brilliant.”

“Shall I fetch her here?”

“Take my horse, yes, go now.”

***

Sif turned around in place, standing at the center of the Bifrost markings. She’d dressed as casually as she could, remembering the way the Midgardians had reacted to seeing warriors in full garb appear in their village, though she carried her shield and sword across her back for security’s sake.

“Heimdall this is not New York, and I can feel you laughing.” She glared up at the sky and set off toward the lights of the village.

At least the situation truly wasn’t dire if Heimdall found room for joking.

She reached the village after a hard walk and found an eating establishment still open though the sky was a dark bruise filled with pin pricks of light. “Might you have a way of contacting Jane Foster or the SHIELD?” The older woman behind the counter looked at her with alarm for a moment, then recognition flashed across her face.

“You, you were here when—“ She wiped her hands on her apron absentmindedly. “You _stabbed_ that thing!” The Destroyer. Sif nodded and asked again if the woman had means of contacting anyone. “I—um—yes, just a moment.” She pulled a massive book from beneath the counter, pages fluttering to the ground when she flipped it open. “Here.” She turned the book toward Sif and pointed at a series of numbers. “You can call Dr. Foster on the house phone, just one minute.” The woman busied herself making the cord of the ancient communication device reach the counter before handing the receiver to Sif. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.” She pressed the keys for each digit and listened to the tinny ringing for an age before a woman’s voice blearily answered.

“Yeh-low.” A bleary voice came across the receiver. “You’ve reached Doctor _Jay-nuh_ Foster, astrophysicist and intern-slave driver. How may I direct your _very_ important call at this very ridiculous hour?”

“Is this…” _Norns,_ what was that girl’s name? They’d only met very briefly. The amusing one. Calls Mjolnir a nonsense name—“Darcy. Is this Darcy?”

“Indeedy-do, but who on Earth are _you_?”

“This is Sif, I—“

“Oh my god!” A more familiar voice came across the phone. “Sif? Lady Sif? I caught the atmospheric disturbances on my instruments, I knew it had to be the bridge! Is everything alright? Where’s Thor? Is he okay? Is it Loki? Is he not-dead again? What’s happening? Is it aliens?”

“Jane? Jane Foster?”

“Yes!”

“Everything is fine.”

“Then why are you here? What’s going on? Something _has_ to be going on. You people only come here when it’s _something_.”

“It is _something_ but I am afraid that it’s difficult to explain in this manner. Can you come to me? Or direct me to you? I’ve been sent to relay a message to the SHIELD.”

“Oh my god.” Darcy chattered in the background, forbidding Jane to get her involved with secret government agency iPod thieves at four in the morning. “Where are you?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, where exactly are we?” Sif held the receiver out to the woman who appeared to run the establishment. She told Jane that they were at the diner on Main Street. “Will you come?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in twenty minutes, hang tight.” Darcy shrieked in apparent agony and the call ended.

A sturdy mug filled with a steaming beverage was placed in front of Sif. “Just… don’t smash it, alright?”

Soon enough, Sif found herself at Dr. Foster’s base of operations. Jane busied herself connecting with her SHIELD contact. Darcy sat across the table, eyeing Sif critically.

“What kind of conditioner do you use?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your hair. It’s so… good.”

Sif willed the blush she felt rising in her cheeks away, her hair a sore point. “Sif!”

Thank the Norns.

“Lady Sif, we’ve already got a quinjet en route to pick you up. We caught the bridge opening.”

“Lady Hill. I usually deal with the S—I usually deal with Coulson.”

“Sorry to disappoint. He’s out in the field at the moment. Is there some kind of inter-realm emergency going on? Fugitive Asgardians? More Elves who want to destroy us all?”

“No, no none of that.” Hills expression was strained.

“I’m sorry, Sif, but can you just tell me the problem? We’re dealing with a little bit of an urgent situation at the moment—“

“Your Captain—“

“Steve? I mean, Captain America. You know something?”

“Yes, he is on Asgard.”

Relief washed over Hill’s image on the computer screen. Her shoulders dropped, her expression softened slightly. “ _Christ_ , I don’t know how the heck this is all fitting together, but thank goodness.”

“I wouldn’t be too grateful just yet.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“He has been injured quite severely.”

“We thought as much. We found… we found a lot of blood. But if he’s on Asgard…?”

“He is under Thor’s diligent care.”

Hill pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers and sighed. “Alright. Explain it when you get here. The jet should be arriving at your location any minute.”

***

Steve wasn’t sure if he was dead or not.

Did being dead hurt this much?

He didn’t remember this much pain before, when he’d crashed. He hadn’t been dead then. So maybe he was now.

It was dark and still where there wasn’t pain. No colors or sounds. No lights. No movement. No one.

Just floating, suspended in nothingness.

He struggled to pull together coherent thoughts, like dandelion fluff snatched away on a breeze before he could touch it.

Maybe it hurt because he’d been dropped into Hell.

Steve didn’t think he was a bad person. He thought vaguely of all of the men he’d killed or injured since he’d jumped out of Stark’s plane. He’d done bad things for what he’d believed were the right reasons. Did that make him bad?

Maybe it was Purgatory. He hadn’t been sure that was real before—an invention of some Italian poet or a greedy Pope. But maybe that Dante guy had gotten it right. And now Steve was paying for his sins with this pain, being purified. Maybe the pain was all his badness, everything awful about him magnified by the serum, being burned away by prayers for his soul from somewhere on Earth.

Would his friends pray for him? None of them struck him as particularly faithful. Maybe.

Or Heaven and God weren’t real at all. This horrible _nothing_ was just what awaited them all.

Steve became very slowly aware once again that he had a body, that he wasn’t just some fractured consciousness. Even more slowly, he latched onto the idea that if he had a body that meant he also had eyes and that they might be closed.

Remembering he had a body seemed to be the key to fully realizing his pain. He was sick with it, throbbing and burning in his head and his limbs and his gut. Everything felt too heavy, he was made of lead instead of muscle and bone.

If he still had a body then that was definitely bile racing up the back of his throat. He choked and sputtered, the convulsions in his belly sending searing pain shooting through his gut.

_Shhh. It’s alright._

His throat hurt. His mouth tasted sour.

Someone’s fingers caressed his face, a soft hand rubbed his back, skin on skin.

Water? Cool water. On his lips, flooding his mouth. Sweet, smooth. Maybe not water.

_Shhh. You’re alright._

Soft, warm light flooded his vision when he finally managed to pry his eyes open. He was laying down, he could figure that much, on something luxuriously soft. The sweet water flowed over his tongue again, he coughed and choked, trying to swallow. A gentle hand on his chest stopped him from moving.

He tried to make his eyes focus on the face hovering above him—hair like spun gold and copper shining in the light, features open and inviting, a spray of freckles across the nose and cheeks.

_Mmm-mm—_

“Mama?” Purgatory had been a quick trip. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all, not as many sins as he’d been keeping in tallies. His voice came out in a ragged croak that didn’t sound like him at all.

The woman laughed, soft and musical. “Sleep.” She touched his face and his eyes felt heavy. He tried to speak but couldn’t make the words form on his tongue. Warmth spread out through his body in a wave from where she’d touched him.

Steve fell back toward darkness, fractions less painful.

***

Clint kept the shield close, ready to grab it and leave at a moment’s notice. If Cap thought he’d be able to use it then he damned well would.

Things were bad.

Really bad.

Bobbi had made contact. Her SO with Hydra had believed her story—she’d arrived on scene as Captain America and Hawkeye here retreating with the prisoners in tow. She’d given chase, wanting to take the Avengers alive for Hydra, but there had been a quinjet waiting for them. She’d shot out the turbine, but it hadn’t been enough. Sure that they’d been in hot pursuit, agents had scoured the area for the Captain—he’d left quite the trail for them to follow. Blood spatter highlighted his movements through the woods, dark stains on bright green leaves and stones and bark. They’d finally come across a pool of it, voids in the pattern surly indicating that he’d lain there for at least a minute or two while blood pumped ever-more weakly from at least one severe wound.

No one should have survived the scene they found.

But there was no body.

Hydra didn’t have it, Bobbi was sure of it.

No one from SHIELD had made contact with him.

There was no one else hiding in the woods, no one that could have extracted him—especially on foot, given the lack of disturbance to the general landscape.

Clint had been left largely to his own devices on the shooting range. Word had spread quickly that he was in a mood that was fit to be tied, agents gave him wide birth when the saw him coming. He supposed he looked like he was looking for a fight with the tight set to his shoulders and his bloodied lip, a little worse for wear from their mission besides.

Hill had urged him to head toward the barracks and get some rest, she was sure medical would give him something to take the edge off. She needed him at his best when they mobilized.

“I can’t sleep. Not while he’s still out there somewhere. Not while we don’t know who has ‘im.” He refused to voice the strong possibility that Steve was dead, that Bobbi’s information was bad, that Hydra had him. Natasha understood what he was feeling. She’d stayed with him shooting at her own target, switching quickly from hand to hand and changing magazines at top speed, until she felt she couldn’t safely shoot any further, too tired to continue. She sat a while longer, watching him as he nocked successive arrows, launching them down his lane and slowly obliterating the target paper he was aiming at.

“Clint, you need to get some rest.”

He eased the taut bowstring back down and let his shoulders sag. The fight had gone out of him, the arrow he’d been steadying clattered to the floor. Natasha came up behind him and eased the bow out of his hands. He slammed his fists down onto the counter in front of him, dividing the shooters from the lanes.

“Why the fuck haven’t they found him yet?”

***

Sigyn had arrived quickly enough. “I’ll admit, I was surprised that you’d call for my help.” Their relationship was strained at best, though Thor had to admit that there wasn’t another person in the realm he would have trusted more at one point—and sometimes still—there was a reason the Midgardians who had worshiped them called her the Goddess of Fidelity. “But when that poor boy showed up at my door in his sleeping suit on your horse, it seemed as though it was an emergency.”

They had not spoken since Loki had died in the battle against Malekith.

Sigyn had set to work at once, needing little explanation as to why her talents were needed when she saw Steve. Her handmaiden hovered close, helping her to prepare thick, aromatic green pastes from several kinds of leaves and oils with a mortar and pestle. She spread the salve carefully across the sutured wounds and wrapped strips of soft, clean linen over them. Her lips worked over silent words, old magic Thor knew on sight when her fingers trailed rose-gold sparks.

She lowered her ear to Steve’s chest, a brow raised as she listened carefully. “Thor, you should change. Your clothes are soiled.” He looked down at himself, still wearing his blood-smeared tunic and trousers, startled slightly by the sight. “And then you should try to sleep. I will wake you if there is any need.”

He did change clothing, but chose to seat himself on the chaise, his attendant long since sent to bed. He watched Sigyn work, curious as she tipped liquids between Steve’s unmoving lips and pinched at his skin, noting how it colored and sprang.

She turned to him with a soft smile and wiped her hands on a scrap of linen. “My dear brother, you are stubborn as an ox. You must sleep.” She crossed the room to him and laid a gentle hand against his cheek. He felt his eyes grow heavy.

Thor woke to the blazing sun of full afternoon. “That was a wretched thing you did, Sig.”

She turned and looked over her shoulder at him from where she leaned against the doorway out onto the balcony. “You were of no use to me in your nervous state. Well rested is another case.”

“It was a dirty trick.”

“That you should have seen coming.” A chill rushed down Thor’s back. She sounded so like Loki sometimes. Or did Loki sound like her? “He woke several hours ago. I put him down again. Sleep is best. In the evening the bandages will need to be changed.” She’d taken the effort to drape a light piece of bedding over his hips. Thor wondered briefly if Steve would be offended that his modesty had been compromised. He doubted it. Likely Sigyn’s handmaid had been embarrassed. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Is he a lover?”

“Excuse me?”

“This man. Is he your lover?”

Thor cursed the color that bloomed in his cheeks. “No, we are not lovers.”

“There’s no need to lie, brother. I’ve only seen you this distressed where a very select group is concerned.” He shook his head. “Do you think I would disapprove? I care not that he is of Midgard. I rather liked that woman. She didn’t let Odin intimidate her. It was refreshing. I can only imagine he’s just as brilliant if he’s caught your eye.”

“I care a great deal for Steve, you are right. We have never gone to bed together, though.”

Sigyn considered the statement for a moment and shrugged, noncommittal. She crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed beside Steve, patting at his forehead and face with a damp cloth. “Their bodies are quite similar to ours, if much less efficient—though somehow, he comes much closer than most. Eir did the very bare minimum. Stopped the bleeding, closed the wounds—though I think his leg should have been left open, I will certainly bow to her _expertise_ —given him a tonic to encourage new blood flow. Like us, it comes from the marrow, you know. I imagine he’s probably in a great deal of discomfort.”

“Then what is all this?” Thor moved to stand over them and gestured generally to the bandages.

“Things to soothe, to encourage the healing to go faster, prevent infection.” Thor nodded as he sniffed the residue on the mortar and pestle, it was familiar. “He thought I was his mother.” A sad smile crept across her lips. “He mumbles quite a bit in his sleep, you know. At least, he did after he woke.”

“Really? And what secrets has he told?”

“Nonsense, mostly. Or at least nonsense to me. He does seem very upset that Heimdall did not give him the answers he sought.”

“Will he wake again soon?”

“Likely. He will need something to eat when he does. Something that will be easy on his gut.”

“Of course.”

“You should stay. Watch over him. I’ll take care of it.”

Thor readily took her place when she left. Her remarks were far less cutting than Odin’s had been, based on observation and intuition than an accusation meant to dismiss the situation as a frivolity. He scrubbed his hand down over his face, his mind wandering too far when the situation very much did not call for it.

He did like Steve very much.

Steve was very nice to look at.

They did have very much in common—or he thought they might.

But Thor realized as well that for all of his short visits to Midgard and shorter “missions” with the Avengers, that he did not know them all that well. He had a firm grasp on the _idea_ of each of the in turn, but did not think he knew them as individuals the way he should.

He tensed, a ragged breath rushing out of Steve’s chest, a flicker of discomfort across his face.

Thor resolved to spend more time on Midgard. All-father be damned. Asgard did not need him, he could not offer them more than a smiling face in a time of apparent peace. He could offer much more to his friends at SHIELD, much more that they clearly needed if Steve had turned up so badly used.

A sound like a sore throat being cleared rattled out of Steve. His face contorted, his injured leg convulsed, toes curled tightly against whatever he was feeling. His lashes fluttered and he tried to push himself up, visibly fighting his way back through the magical sedative Sigyn had administered.

“Calm, my friend.” Thor laid a heavy hand gently against Steve’s chest, keeping him from sitting up. He breathed in and out in quick, short bursts and clenched his fists, finally dragging his eyes open. “You’re safe.”

Steve gritted his teeth, breath hissing through them. He blinked rapidly, literally clearing the last clouds of magic from his eyes. “Th—Thor?”

“Yes, that’s what they’ve called me for the last few ages.”

His eyes darted around the room, disregarding Thor’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Where am I? Why are you here?” Tears welled in his eyes. “Bobbi and… and Clint—Tasha—they—“

“Are fine, as far as I know. They are fine.”

“Where are we?” He sounded almost childlike in his distress. It made Thor’s heart beat a little faster, angry at those who had done this and nervous that Steve, who was always seemed so solid, was acting this way.

“We are in my bedchamber. You are on Asgard.”

“What? How—why am I—“ He tried again to rise, stopped by obvious pain this time rather than Thor’s restraint.

“You called out to Heimdall. He saw fit to bring you here. You’ve been shot several times, Steve.”

He glanced down at himself quickly then stared hard at Thor. Turning away only made him shriek in pain when he disturbed the bandages on the side of his head. Thor’s attendant came running and was waved off just as quickly as he appeared.

“Yer sure everyone’s okay?”

“Fairly certain, I can ask Heimdall to check in again if you’d like. I’ve sent Sif to SHIELD to help in your absence, assure them of your safety.”

“There is no more SHIELD.”

Thor barked a short laugh. “What?”

“There’s no more SHIELD. Hadda take it down.” He glanced down the front of himself again. “Could I get a minute?”

Thor frowned and stood, “Of course. Promise me you won’t try to get up, though, you will hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, fine.”

***

“Sam, it’s not exactly the best time.”

“I’ve been tryin’a call him for hours, Romanov, what the heck is going on?”

“He’s MIA at the moment.” She ducked as Clint flung the box of target papers across the room.

“Natasha what’s happening? How is Cap MIA?”

“Extraction mission went a little sour, we split up; there was a lot of blood and no body.” Clint slumped to the floor against the wall, tired out by his own rage. The targets fluttered to the floor around them. Clint stuck his foot out, knocking the shield over where it was propped up. He blamed himself, Natasha knew it.

She also knew that he looked up to Steve.

_“He makes you wanna be a better person, y’know? Like you don’t wanna disappoint him—be good, be kind.”_

And that he felt indebted to Steve for readily accepting him into the fold when they’d recovered him from Loki’s control, trusting Natasha’s judgement and Clint’s desire to fix what he’d helped to launch into chaos, even if it had been while under some kind of magical mind control.

“Look, I’ll call you when we know more. Right now, it’s better for the Falcon to stay grounded. Fewer people to keep track of. We don’t have a solid reason to think he’s—”

“You call me the _absolute_ minute you hear anything, Nat.”

Agent May appeared in the doorway, a brow raised and a stern look on her face. “Sam, I’ve gotta go, I’ll talk to you later.” Natasha shoved her phone down into her pocket and held a hand out to Clint, a silent order to get up and help her clean up his mess. May joined them, neatly stacking the targets and replacing them back in the box, allowing whatever situation there was at hand to diffuse before she delivered her message.

“Hill wants you two. We’ve got a visitor.”

Clint looked up at the tall woman standing in Hill’s office with wide-eyed wonder. “This is Lady Sif. She’s been back and forth a few times, helped out on a few missions that needed a bit more of an Asgardian touch.” May’s lips curled into the barest hint of a smile as if remembering those missions fondly.

Natasha held her hand out, “Heard a lot about you, Sif.” She and Clint introduced themselves and Hill rushed through pleasantries.

“I’ve come to help you with whatever battles you’re currently facing at Thor’s request.”

“Why?”

“We have your Captain on Asgard.” Clint’s face drained of color and filled with blush again rapidly as he demanded information.

***

Steve grunted and groaned and managed to heave himself up against the pile of pillows and furs at the head of Thor’s massive bed. He pulled a corner of one of several blankets heaped to the side toward him with considerable effort and managed to cover himself a bit better. He was out of breath, tired by the overwhelming discomfort he felt.

He wondered fleetingly where his clothes, his gear, and his weapons had gone.

He wondered if Clint and Bobbi and Natasha and the three agents that they had managed to rescue had really made it out alright and how he’d wound up here instead of captured by Hydra.

He wondered if God was real and if He was, why He continued to deny him the comfort of death. Why was his life so necessary?

Steve became slowly aware of the fact that he _had_ been shot several times. He remembered running, he remembered pain and blood. He remembered feeling like he was being eaten up by the cosmos.

His train of thought was interrupted when a woman entered the room. Longing speared through him like a hot knife when he realized he’d seen her before—his visions of Heaven and his mother were nothing more than fevered hopes.

“Who’re you?” He cleared his throat, remembering himself. “Ma’am, my apologies. I’m—“

“No need for apologies, Steve.” Her voice was to his ears as if drinking tea with honey. She set down a tray on the edge of the wide night table beside him, innocuous smells of food drifting in his direction. “You are a friend of Thor. You’ve been hurt. You’re frightened and angry.” She sat, a soft smile on her face as she patted his hand. “I am Sigyn. I’ve been looking after you. Eir and her ladies stitched you up. Thor asked me to come and help him nurse you when they would not.”

Why did her name sound familiar? He reached back in his memory, trying to think of all the names, all so similar sounding and inter-related and with complicated stories, that he’d read in the book on mythology he’d taken out of the library after the first time he’d met Thor.

“You’re… you’re somebody’s wife—“

She laughed, “Was, yes. Loki and I were joined.” Steve couldn’t help the nervous jolt he felt. “Please don’t be alarmed, I have no desire to conquer your realm or your people.” Her smiled turned slightly sad. “He wasn’t always that way, you know.” She reached out and took a cloth off of a sturdy looking bowl and set it into his hands. Steam curled up toward his face. “But that’s nothing you need concern yourself with at the moment. Here, try to eat.”

Steve tentatively lifted a spoonful of the nearly clear broth to his lips, his stomach growling at the subtle aroma. His throat burned as he swallowed and he remembered throwing up. He put the spoon down, feeling a little dizzy. Sigyn asked him what was wrong. “My head’s killin’ me.” She reached out as if she was going to adjust the bandages there and his head began to tingle. He could see soft light rolling off of her fingertips at the upper edge of his vision. “No! No, please don’t do that!”

“Is something wrong?”

“Just—“ Memories of Loki and Schmidt and the Tesseract raced through his head. Magic and power never seemed to be a very good thing as far as he was concerned. The fact that this woman was intimately connected to Loki made him trust the stuff even less. “Just please don’t.”

“Alright.” The tingling stopped abruptly and the ache returned. “Have it your way.” She pursed her lips and regarded him critically. “You should try to eat. I will fetch Thor, he will want to know you’re awake. I’m surprised he’s left you. He’s been very attentive—I had to force him to get any rest himself.”

“He knows I’m awake.”

Sigyn cocked her head to the side. “Where’s he gone?”

“I asked to be alone.”

She frowned and nudged the spoon back into his hand. “I’ll leave you be then as well. I’ll be back to check in on you this evening.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He played over the last several minutes he could recall before he’d presumably blacked out from blood loss again and again in his head.

He’d been running recklessly through the trees. Making noise. Attracting attention.

He told himself it was because he wanted to give the others a fighting chance at getting away unharmed—or at least less harmed than they might otherwise be.

That’s what he told himself.

Steve made it to the bottom of the bowl of broth and was ripping small pieces off of a soft, flat portion of bread when Thor appeared quietly in the doorway that he’d disappeared though earlier.

“Would you still like to be alone?”

Steve swallowed what was in his mouth and had the good sense to look as ashamed of his behavior as he felt. Thor was only trying to help. He had no idea what had gone on in the world since he’d last visited. “I’m sorry.”

Thor shook his head and sat casually on the empty side of the bed. Steve caught Thor’s eyes tracking over his bare skin. He offered the half of the bread he hadn’t yet ripped apart as an olive branch. Thor readily accepted it.

“Steve… what’s happened?”

It was like Steve was the Hoover Dam and Thor had smacked him hard as possible with Mjolnir.

Everything just came flooding out.

Moving from Brooklyn to DC, settling into the routine of being Fury’s janitor, his failed attempts to find someone to share his time with—the disaster that had been _Kate the Nurse Next-Door,_ the not-so-disaster that had been Sam Wilson and the decision they’d made that neither one was in the best place, their own issues needed to be dealt with a little better before starting to share that baggage—the agony of seeing Peggy slipping away while he was _trapped_ in his body and all he wanted was to slip away with her—how it could have been, should have been—the tentative friendship he was desperately trying to forget with Barton and Romanov. He could feel himself racing closer and closer to hysterics as he described coming home to find Fury in his apartment and the things that followed.

He was shaking, every muscle in his body clenched tight, his injuries burning and aching.

Thor looked stern and pale, both angry and horrified.

“I just keep wakin’ up next to guys’at wanna take care’a me.” He barked out a laugh.

He wished he could have let Sam take care of him.

But somehow, Steve didn’t think he was worth being taken care of. Not when everything he touched turned to shit, when he failed at every turn.

Steve sucked in breath, surprised and confused, when Thor seized his face and their lips mashed together.

It _hurt_.

Pain shot through his face and head. His shoulder and gut throbbed as Thor pulled him forward, even gently.

It made his chest ache to be touched in such a violently intimate way.

Steve melted into it, his limbs relaxing, letting his hands find the warmth of the skin on Thor’s massive arms. He choked and sobbed into Thor’s open mouth.

“—the fuck—What’re you doing?” His eyes burned and he blinked rapidly, trying to hold back all of that Hoover Dam-force waiting to finish exploding out of him.

Thor seemed to be working over some internal conflict of his own. “I am sorry.” Steve winced and clenched his teeth as Thor swiped at the apple of his cheek with a callused thumb. “That was far too forward.”

Steve’s stomach turned over. “Do it again.” Steve glared at Thor’s forehead while he shifted himself back down into the pillows, afraid to look him in the eye. His voice came out in not much more than a rasped whisper, “ _Please_ do it again.”

***

He was so incredibly sad, so completely lonely and confused. So careless with himself because of it.

Thor knew a bit of that, especially recently.

When he kissed Steve, it was as much an attempt to comfort himself as it was Steve.

He shouldn’t have done it—it was taking complete advantage of his friend’s vulnerability, physically and emotionally. The wrongness of it smacked him in the face when Steve pulled back, looking so distressed.

But he’d asked Thor to do it again. He laid himself down and offered his mouth up once more.

Thor kissed him more gently that time, soft sliding of lips across lips and lips across cheek and eyelash and jaw.

Thor moved, trying to relieve the awkward hunch of his back, finding the only comfortable way to be near Steve and to kiss Steve without disturbing his injuries was to lie propped beside him, able to reach across to knead Steve’s opposite shoulder—an embrace without too much contact.

He traced the line of Steve’s bicep to his elbow, running his fingers down over his forearm and lacing them with Steve’s, who sobbed again beneath him.

“My friend—“

“Please don’t stop.”

“I think that I am making things worse.” He laid a tender kiss against the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“No!” Steve shuddered bodily. “No, yer not. _Please_.” His fingers squeezed Thor’s tighter. Thor continued to kiss him, pressing his lips to the soft flesh under Steve’s chin and trailing down over his throat. Steve sucked in breath as if coming up from deep waters, his skin grew warm and flushed with color. His belly flexed and he cried out in discomfort. Thor pried his fingers free to smooth what he thought should be a soothing hand over Steve’s chest and abdomen. The uninjured leg came up, toes curled tightly as the corner of blanket Steve had arranged over himself dropped down over the other. “ _Oh God_ —oh, God—Please… please keep touching me.”

He curled his body closer, moaning. “Steve, you are going to hurt yourself.” He mumbled that he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel something. Thor was taken aback, alarmed and wanting to give him what he was asking. Steve gulped and pushed his corner of blanket away, freeing his other leg in attempt to move closer.

Thor traced his fingers over Steve’s inclined thigh, feeling the tremor of the flesh. Steve begged for _more_ and begged for _harder_. Thor kneaded his thigh, gripped his behind firmly. Running his fingers between Steve’s buttocks earned him as loud gasp for breath and a pained moan. “ _A Dhia!”_

The All-speak tickled at the back of Thor’s brain, making him recognize the invocation of Steve’s God. He laughed softly and pressed a kiss behind Steve’s ear, careless, drawing out a shriek and realizing he’d favored the wounded side.

***

“Steve, I shouldn’t—“

“No, _no_ —fuck—please keep going.” He was openly crying. His face burned with embarrassed blush. Thor’s thick fingers brushed between his cheeks again, pressure a little firmer. Steve arched his back as much as he could, pushing his ass into Thor’s hand.

He just wanted, needed, to be touched.

Without strings.

Or at the very least, without strings that made him feel like a prize to be won.

Failed dates, failed fucks—women and men in his sad, Spartan bed—while he searched for connection. Kisses that made him feel nothing. Looks and touches that made him want to shower with a Brillo pad.

And the same that made his chest feel like it was split wide open, made him want more. The way Natasha’s kiss while they were on the run set sparks from his lips to his spine, the way she looked at him with such genuine, honest interest. Sam’s bright smile and easy touches and warm laugh, the way getting close to him made heat tingle all the way down into the soles of Steve’s feet. Clint’s eager earnestness, the alternating quietness and humor that hid whatever else was going on inside. Even the way Kate the Nurse had turned him down—even though it had ended wildly differently than he’d ever imagined—uninterested in being with him just because of who he was.

It all sent him to bed with that cracked open sternum and throbbing heart, aching for connection, wanting it _so_ badly… and utterly terrified to really have it.

Thor took all of that out of his hands.

Steve felt stripped bare, vulnerable, and helpless. And it wasn’t just because he was naked and practically bedridden.

He sobbed and tucked his head under Thor’s chin.

“Thor, please.” He reciprocated a tentative kiss, his lips brushing against the soft linen of Thor’s shirt over his shoulder. “Please touch me—I—unless you… unless you don’t—“

Of course he didn’t. The kiss was to shut him up, give him what he sounded like he was angling for with his sob story. Why would someone like Thor want someone like Steve?

“Of course I do.”

But he’d take it.

Warmth pooled low in his belly. His heart fluttered. His cock seemed to be trying in earnest to get hard against his thigh, head rubbing against the linen bandage fixed around him. His head swam, suddenly light-headed.

“Tell me what you need.”

The blush on his face flowed down over his chest. He was glad Thor likely couldn’t see.

Steve couldn’t make his brain and his tongue work together. He reached behind himself and took Thor’s wrist with trembling fingers, moving Thor’s hand to his cock.

“I… if you don’t… Just—just say—“

“Yes.” Thor stroked him in slow, firm pulls, dragging his foreskin over his head and down again.

It seemed to be an eternity before Steve began to feel that pressure, that flutteringly rhythmic pulse at the base of his cock. He was still pathetically, dishearteningly soft. The overwhelming memory of disappointed bedmates threatened to ruin it, even knowing as he did that it was more likely his physical weakness than any mental block keeping his body from doing what he wanted.

Thor murmured softly and nudged him back down into the pillows.

“Ah-ah-I’m sorry-I’m sorry-I can’t—“

Thor hushed him and leaned down to suck hard on his collarbone, trailing hard kisses over his chest, curling his body over Steve like a protective shell.

***

“Maria, we’ve got a problem.”

They’d been sitting in Hill’s office on the hellicarrier, listening to Sif relate what she could about Cap’s condition. It didn’t sound good. For all Clint knew, Steve was dead—Asgardian magic healing or no. Even with the serum, Steve wasn’t invincible. The wounds Sif described would have been fatal. What if his femoral artery was nicked? He wasn’t conscious at the very least, what about a concussion? Bleeding onto his brain? Clint clenched his fists and stared hard at the shield resting against Hill’s desk.

Melinda handed over a tablet. “We just got some pretty disturbing information from lock-up.”

“The scepter.”

“Gone.”

Sif’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean _the scepter is gone_? Loki’s scepter? The one Thor entrusted to you?”

Melinda nodded grimly. “Evidently it’s been gone for some time, at the very least since the agency broke down. Maybe longer. Definitely in Hydra hands.”

Hill pursed her lips and set the tablet down. “And it may or may not be being used to accelerate the activation of the X-gene in mutant subjects. Wonderful. Do we know whether these are volunteers or not yet?”

“Not yet, we’re working on it.”

Sif shot out of her chair, “We have to find it!”

Natasha put a firm hand on the towering woman’s forearm. “One disaster at a time. We’re working on limited man-power, we can’t show our hand before we’re ready.”

Clint’s chest tightened in fear. “I’m with her. We need that thing found.”

Maria eyed him critically for a moment, her face softening into sympathy. “Natasha, you get Wilson on a line, see if he’s available. I’ll call Pepper, she should be able to wrangle Banner and Stark.” She looked to Sif, imploring. “We’re a few team members short. Mind helping out?”

Sif nodded, giving Clint a curious glance, “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

***

Steve trembled bodily, wet sobs ripping out of his throat, toes and fingers gripping the bedding beneath him tightly. His chest and stomach convulsed as he came, thick white drops in weak pulses from his still-soft cock.

Steve laced his fingers into Thor’s hair, pulling him down closer, hot tears slicking his face and making their cheeks slide against each other.

“ _Dhia_ cabhrú liom.” He gulped air for a long moment, coming down. “I’m sorry, Thor, I’m so sorry.”

Thor turned his face just enough to press a light kiss to Steve’s ear. “You keep apologizing when you have naught to be sorry for.”

“But I do— _I do_. Thor, I do.”

“Then what?”

“I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have asked you to… to touch me. I shouldn’t have. _I shouldn’t_.” He sniffled, apparently regaining some level of control over himself.

“Steve, I started this.”

He broke into near-hysterics again. Thor’s heart raced, not know what to do. Thor let Steve curl himself into his side once more, still awkward as he tried his best not to put pressure on his shoulder. The sun was sinking in the afternoon sky beyond the balcony when he calmed, hiccupping and shaking and hot to the touch.

Steve whispered, voice shaking. “I was kind hopin’ I was dead.”

Thor remained silent, unsure of how to answer.

He feared he had made things worse.

Steve had sent him away to be alone, clearly angry and unnerved by what had happened. Confused, frightened.

Thor sat before the cold fireplace on the edge of the massive tub in his bathing room, staring into the ash. He found himself resenting Odin and Sigyn’s insinuations and the way he’d immediately considered Steve’s physical appeal at the suggestion that they might be lovers.

But the Steve had poured his heart out, opened himself like a book. Thor couldn’t help but love him for it.

Or had he merely been acting out of self-interest? Taking advantage of Steve to test his own attraction.

Thor shushed and cooed, stroking Steve’s bare arm in attempt to comfort him as evening began to settle in earnest. A soft knock announced Sigyn’s arrival.

“Am I interrupting?”

Steve wiped his face roughly, eyes bloodshot. “No, ma’am.”

Thor gently extricated himself from Steve’s embrace to allow Sigyn room to work. Though still angry and inflamed looking, Steve’s sutures already showed signs of healing. Sigyn’s handmaid worked diligently, filling the room with the sweet, heady aroma of the herbs she was grinding into a paste. She helped Sigyn redress Steve’s bandages. He watched them with mild interest, as if he had gone somewhere else inside of himself, hardly reacting as they poked and prodded, only actively helping them to sit him up to care for his head and shoulder, seemingly uncaring in regards to his bareness.

Sigyn began to leave, issuing instructions that Steve _must_ eat supper. He would need to build his strength back up quickly, especially if he would not allow her to utilize any magic to help him along.

Thor watched quietly as he blinked coming back to himself. He regarded her with watery eyes, looking as if he were about to collapse into sadness again. “Yes.” His face contorted in distress. “Where’re my pants?”

Sigyn laughed, amused though not laughing _at_ him. “Have you only just noticed you’re naked?”

“No—I—my compass. My compass was in my pocket.” He clenched his jaw and looked to Thor. “I need it. It’s all I’ve got… It’s all I’ve got that was _mine_.”

Sigyn’s smiled faded quickly. “I will find it.” She turned to Thor momentarily. “Your father is furious about Sif, by the way.” She left as quietly as she came.

***

Steve forced himself to eat another serving of the clear, mild broth that was given to him. He let Thor urge him to finish off the bread that came with it and a few bites of soft cheese and meat from his own dish.

Thor sat with his feet tucked beneath him, relating to Steve what Heimdall had told him and trying to describe how the Bifrost bridge worked, explaining that no, it was likely not what Steve had perceived as space opening up around him. That was just the hallucinations of a dying man.

Steve was glad Thor had put it bluntly.

It felt like putting his feet on solid ground.

“I think I’ve taken severe advantage of you.” Thor gestured to the bed in response to Steve’s confused face.

Steve shook his head and picked at the edge of the blanket he’d long since pulled over his legs, the room growing just the tiniest bit chilly as the evening progressed and eventually feeling awkward about lying there nude.

“You didn’t.”

“You were alarmed when I kissed you. I did it without your consent. It was wrong of me.”

“I was surprised. But if I didn’t want ya’ta keep goin’ I wouldda stopped you. I wouldn’t have asked…” Steve stared down at his hands, ashamed. “I wouldn’a ask fer what I did.”

Thor cupped his chin gently and kissed him. “Do you know, Sigyn believed us lovers.”

Steve’s cheeks colored lightly. “She wouldn’t be wrong now.” He looked up at Thor hopefully. “Would she?” He didn’t want the cathartic embrace of Thor’s favor to end. His stomach clenched around the idea that he’d eventually have to go back to Earth.

Thor smiled fondly, “Perhaps not.” He got to his feet and stretched. “But now you should rest. Try to sleep.” He yawned, half covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll take the chair. I fear I am a heavy sleeper. You may throw something at me if you require anything. Or pull that,” he gestured to the cord beside the bed, “My attendant will come.” He probably meant the kid who’d been in and out silently most of the evening after Sigyn left.

“What, no, this is yer bed. I’ll move.”

Thor laughed. “You would be placed in far too much discomfort. And I fear I tend to kick in my sleep. There was a time Sif refused to share my bed when we were wed, and quite rightly.”

They settled in for the night eventually. Soon after, Thor’s breathing evened out, deep and quiet. Steve watched his chest rise and fall. He was sprawled out on the chaise lounge, even making the chair obviously made for him look like children’s furniture. Steve thought he looked ethereal in the bright moonlight, his expression softened with sleep.

Steve laid awake for hours. Too uncomfortable. His mind refusing to quiet. He hesitated before he pulled the cord to summon Thor’s attendant.

“Yes?” The kid looked like he was in pajamas.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean’a wake you.”

“It is my job to make myself available.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Do you need something?”

Steve chewed his lip, unsure about the decision he was about to make. “I-I can’t sleep.”

“You would like me to fetch Lady Sigyn.” Steve nodded. “Of course.”

The woman that was Thor’s one-time in-law but he still called _sister_ arrived with a concerned look on her face. “I thought you didn’t want magic. What is wrong?” He hands fluttered, ready to check his wounds, eyes scanning critically.

“I just can’t sleep.” Steve kept his voice low, eyes darting over Sigyn’s shoulder.

She followed his gaze and waved a hand. “He is dead to the Nine when he sleeps.” She fished for a moment in the folds of her gown. “Look what I’ve found.” She held out her hand, his compass in her palm.

Steve’s chest tightened as he took it. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now, shall I?” He nodded. She touched his cheek and he felt warmth flow across his face, racing down into his limbs. “Sleep well.”

***

It would be several days before Steve was back on his feet, even with Sigyn’s magic. He learned quickly that it didn’t work the same way in real life as it did in books and pictures. He realized more and more how close to death he’d actually come.

As he regained strength he began to move around Thor’s room and to spend time out on the balcony.

Asgard was breathtaking.

He mused that he wished he had something to draw with. A stack of thick paper and a box full of colorful leads and chalks—or what he guessed was at least Asgard’s equivalent—and sharpening implements appeared with his midday meal. The attendant smile and tapped the side of his nose in a knowing gesture when Steve realized what it was.

Steve spent that entire afternoon committing what he could see from his vantage point on the balcony to paper—until he leaned over to see Odin glaring up at him. Two huge black birds circled overhead and swooped toward the King. Steve shrank back, retreating into the bedroom. Odin didn’t frighten him, nor did the birds. But the thought of Thor or Sigyn and the silent girl who helped her or Sif or Heimdall or the attendant he’s learned was called Bjorn being punished for his presence made him sick.

He didn’t understand what about him angered the King so much.

Thor refused to explain it.

He’d been spending his time lounging in a pair of soft woolen trousers with the hems rolled up. Thor wasn’t much taller and Steve wouldn’t hear of it when Thor offered to have a set of clothes made for him. He stayed shirtless, the sleeves of most things he tried catching around his bandaged shoulder too much.

He was beginning to freckle in the bright Asgardian sun.

Sigyn commented on his glow and urged him to eat.

Thor split his time between what Steve assumed were princely duties… and kissing him.

They hadn’t gone far again, both clearly apprehensive over the floodgates it might open. But still, they did their careful, intimate dance around each other.

Steve tried not to get too attached.

Everything he got attached to turned to shit.

Finally, Sigyn declared him well enough to leave. No more risk of infection or reopening his wounds. The sutures he’d woken up with ha dissolved into his skin. He’d been left with pearly white and red mottled scars and a large swath of missing hair on the side of his head. His bruising faded. His eyes looked less sunken—well rested for the first time since he’d gotten the serum. He was still awful sore, but it got better each day.

There was still that gaping hole in his chest, but the ache was dulled to something more tolerable.

On the morning of his departure, Thor handed him a navy colored tunic to slip over his head and a pair of soft leather shoes. He walked through the palace, looking at everything around him with wonder, wishing he’d ventured beyond Thor’s door to explore. Bjorn had saddled Thor’s horse and helped him to climb up behind Thor when he was mounted.

“Wait!” Bjorn picked up a large leather envelope and handed it up to Steve. When he peeked inside he saw his stack of drawings, the box of colors making the bottom corner of the envelope bulge. Steve smiled and thanked him. “Come back soon, yes? Next time maybe you will draw me.”

Sigyn rode with them across the glittering rainbow bridge to the ornate observation hub where Heimdall met them.

Heimdall was a sight to behold, magnificent in his golden armor and helmet with his stunning eyes and bright smile. His laugh boomed and echoed in the dome ceiling of the room they walked into. “Steve Rogers! Captain. I am sorry I did not visit to answer your questions—prove that I know everything.”

Steve blushed and told him it was okay. Some questions were best left unanswered.

Sigyn pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t think we’ll meet again.” Her thumb rubbed against his jaw in a motherly way. “I wish you happiness, Steve. And fewer life-and-death choices.”

Steve turned to Thor, ready to leave. “Do you think you are going alone? Of course not. I will see you back.” Heimdall had stepped away. He pushed his great sword into a slot on a raised dais. The room crackled with electricity and the universe swam in and out of focus in a large doorway at the far end of the room. Two men came stumbling through, laughing and smacking each other. “You two! Could have used you a week ago!”

“Oh hush you! Just because we went to Vanaheim without you doesn’t mean you get to whine. You’ve grown dull in your maturity.”

“Steve, this is Fandral and Volstagg.”

“Who is this now? You’ve brought another stray Midgardian home?” The rotund one patted him on the head like he was a lost puppy.

“He’s almost as pretty as the last one.” The other winked as strolled past to kiss Sigyn’s hand. Sigyn rolled her eyes and linked her arm through his. She patted his hand and told him she’d explain everything over lunch. The other man was distracted from his scrutiny of Steve by the prospect of food and followed after them.

Heimdall smiled. “I think I will be keeping a much more diligent eye on Midgard from now on. There is unrest you should be prepared for.”

Someone behind them cleared their throat. “I am glad to see you well, Captain.”

Thor’s shoulders stiffened as he turned. “Father.”

“I am not upset, however, to see you leaving. My son is under the impression that he owes something to Midgard. I trust you’ll see he’s corrected.”

“I am accompanying Steve back to Midgard, Father. I would see him safely home and retrieve Sif.”

“Fine then. See to it that the Bifrost is abused no longer than necessary. Goodbye, Captain.” He gave them a chilly look and turned on his heel.

Thor took Steve’s hand and tugged him toward the swirling doorway. Heimdall bid them farewell as Thor arranged Steve’s arms around himself so he might hold Steve close. “Don’t let go.” Thor put his arm out and Mjolnir flew toward them after an annoyed whinny from his horse. Thor was warm and hard at his front, the hammer cool and unyielding at his back.

Steve clenched his fingers tightly together and squeezed his eyes shut.

It was like the Cyclone.

But faster.

And as if each loop required him to slam into a wall of bricks.

Steve felt lightheaded, but at some point, his feet made contact with solid ground. “Stop the ride. I wanna get off.” He pressed his face into Thor’s chest, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. Thor rubbed his back comfortingly until he felt ready to pull away.

“Captain Rogers?” Steve turned toward the sound of his name. Pepper Potts was standing in the doorway. He glanced around and realized they were standing on the Iron Man landing pad that hung off the side of Stark Tower. Or was he calling it Avengers Tower yet? “Oh my God. You’re… you’re _alive_ and you’re back.” She gestured that they should come inside. “JARVIS! JARVIS get everyone to come down to the living room. Tell them it’s urgent.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thor! Thor are you going to be staying? We’ve put Sif up in your floor, but there’s more than enough room up there, _believe me_.”

“My floor?”

“Yes! Captain Rogers didn’t tell you? Tony had the upper half of the Tower re-done. Each of the Avengers has their own floor.”

Steve had been too wrapped up in himself to realize that had become a reality. It wasn’t as if he was living in New York anymore as it was. He spent more time on the hellicarrier than anyplace else lately.

He still hadn’t gone back to his apartment in DC. He’d heard the place was ransacked. He was particularly annoyed that his record collection had apparently been destroyed.

Pepper guided them into the living room and got them settled on the couch. Steve asked her no less than a dozen times to simply call him _Steve_. Thor squeezed his hand. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be ill.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

The elevator dinged. Pepper returned with a pair of Tower access cards in her hand from somewhere beyond the kitchen. The sound of shoes moving across the shiny, sleek floor grew closer.

Hill looked angry and relieved at the same time. “Rogers!” She looked for a moment like she was going to hug him and stopped. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Sam pushed around her and yanked him up out of his seat into a firm embrace. “You’re a big frickin’ idiot, you know that, Steve?”

“Yeah yeah, slow-poke.”

Banner expressed his concern and happiness at Steve’s return more quietly. Stark raved that they should have called him in, the Sentinels could have been useful—but he was glad Steve was alright.

“Hey there, soldier.” Natasha pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “You’ve had us worried sick.”

Clint said nothing, just held onto him tightly. Steve could feel the tremor running through his body. “How’s Bobbi?”

“She’s fine.”

Sif pulled Thor aside, speaking to him in hushed but animated tones.

“Rogers, you look like an extra on that _History Channel_ show.” Maria smiled and sat beside him. Steve ran his hand over the shorn side of his head.

Thor whipped around to face the group. “You’ve lost the scepter?”

***

Thor made his way to the roof, guided by Stark’s invisible attendant. He sat with his legs over the edge and looked up at the sky. The stars were overpowered by the city lights even at this great height. He muttered in Heimdall’s general direction. He’d be sending Sif home the following morning.

Steve sat beside him, dangling his legs as well, daring to lean forward just slightly. “Does this mean yer stayin’?”

He looked desperately hopeful.

“I believe it does. I want to see the scepter taken back. I will arrange for it to be moved elsewhere when it is found.”

Steve smiled in the most unhappy manner and looked down at his knees. “Not for any other reason?” Thor continued to look up at the sky and took Steve’s hand in his. Steve squeezed his fingers. “Y’ain’t getting’ these pants back, y’know.”

***

“They’re on the roof, Agent Barton.”

“Thanks JARVIS.”

“Clint, maybe you should give yourself until morning? You’re upset and you know it.”

“I’m just gonna give ‘im back ‘is damned shield. Then I’m goin’a bed. He wants to just… just… _not apologize_ for bein’ a grade-A jackass and nearly getting’ ‘imself _killed_ then that’s his goddamned prerogative.”

“Clint—“

“I’m _fine_ , Tash.”

“Shall, I inform Captain Rogers and Master Odinson that you’ll be joining them?”

“No, JARVIS, that’s fine, I won’t be stayin’ long.”

“Right, sir.”

Clint made his way up to the roof-access door, Captain America’s shield on his arm. They’d been using it during missions—tossed like a deadly Frisbee back and forth between Clint and Natasha and Wilson.

Wilson had turned out to be a pretty amazing guy. He could see why Steve was so enamored with him, understand Natasha and Hill’s quieter admiration. Jealousy pinged around in his chest like a stray arrow.

Clint stepped through the doorway and started to clear his throat, looking around for Steve and Thor. He froze when he saw them standing near the edge of the roof, highlighted against the backdrop of the city glare even at this height. Steve let himself be pulled into Thor’s embrace, wrapped up in strong arms.

“They don’t understand, Thor. They can’t. And it… It’s just not worth getting close to anyone anymore.”

Clint’s stomach soured. He set the shield down beside the door and turned away, both insulted by what he’d heard and embarrassed that he’d walked in on something of an intimate moment, something he wasn’t meant to hear or see.

Of course.

***

“Our friends are worried for you, Steve.” He leaned forward slightly, exhilarated by the way the height made his stomach flutter and his head spin. Thor gripped the back of his shirt and gently reeled him back in. “You should not shut them out the way you do.” They stared out over the city for a few moments longer before scooting back away from the edge and standing. He helped Steve to his feet, “Come, Sigyn would have my head if I did not insist you get yourself to bed.”

Steve looked up at Thor, wanting nothing more than to yank him down and kiss him, coax Thor into stealing his breath away and make the ache in his chest turn sweet again. He let Thor pull him into a hug, warm and solid and reassuring. “They don’t understand, Thor. They can’t. And it… It’s just not worth getting close to anyone anymore.” He took a deep breath, pulling himself in from a more metaphoric edge. “Every time I get close to someone… everything goes to hell.”

“That is not true, and you know it. It’s a disservice to the people inside this building to think that. They care about you. It is your own grief that you refuse to express that sours things.”

He was right, thought Steve wouldn’t say that out loud. Not yet, at least. He had a feeling Thor was speaking from experience.

“Let’s go inside and see what having a whole floor in Stark Tower means, huh?”

“If you would not mind bedmate for the night. Then I would not have to disturb Sif.” Thor held the door open for him.

Steve let himself smile. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” Funny, how did his shield get up there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve says "Oh God" and "God, help me" in Irish. I'm pretty certain the translations I've used are correct/appropriate. If you see anything wrong, please let me know. I know I have one Irish-speaking reader, but I'm pretty sure they only read my Steggy stories.
> 
> And before anyone takes issue with the fact that Steve never achieves and erection: Orgasm and ejaculation are not linked exclusively to erection. You can have one or any combination of the three without the others. Steve has practically bled out and is not in a good head-space. There's no way he's getting hard.
> 
> Hill says he looks like an extra on History's Vikings. I've essentially dressed him up as Ragnar because I can. Check out the show. It's awesome.


End file.
